


Sheeps, Lions, and Silence

by orphan_account



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe, Creepy, Crimes & Criminals, Depression, Drug Use, Father-Son Relationship, Gore, High School, M/M, Modern Era, Murder, Party, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-11-05 11:03:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11012127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Years after the suicide of his wife and his stepson completely refraining from speech, Sebastian, an extremely wealthy manager of a hedge fund in London, wonders if these will be the hardships that carry on with him to the grave. His stepson, Ciel, is a straight A and witted student who on the other hand, would rather escape the issues that claw at him, than sit and ponder about them. In the midst of their minds troubled by emptiness, Sebastian's emotions are spurred by the one person he shouldn't have fallen in love with. Something else is spurred in the meantime, and it's love's biggest fear as well as someone else's.





	1. Sebastian

               Even after all these painful years, I still have the memory of her planted in my head.

               I only remember her to be a perfect fit, for the angel in a cheap high school rendition of a Christmas Eve nativity. Actually, she was a textbook example. Copper washed golden hair constantly drooping around her pale cheeks proves that point.

               The night I had met her had been tragically dim. Even so, I managed to catch sight of the most striking pale eyes sparkling like snow under sunlight. She stood maybe 5’ 6”, and the silk dress that she had slipped onto her shoulders, peppered her body with soft, sensual kisses. Like a lover, it seduced the senses and conveyed with the utmost skill. 

               When she stepped out onto the dance floor, her hips swayed forcefully against the music, every movement could easily be described as poetry. She had been twirling around to V _anished by Crystal Castles._ A song I must've heard hundreds of times, yet it never carried such an exceptionally lovely meaning until then. 

               Her name? Rachel Phantomhive.

               But for the first time, things didn't turn out the way I’d like them to. 

               Yes, of course, I did get the girl, that wasn't the issue though. 

               The first sign of this was when her voice had begun to trail off with eyes of crystal all too glossy. This was our fourth or fifth date if I remember correctly. The two of us had snuck into the outdoor pool of The Wellesley London.

               Twinkling lights illuminated the heights of the waters letting off a white glow. It all started when her lips brushed past mine, full of passion; the pits of my stomach raged eager for more. Never have I felt like this for any other girl out of the plenty that could've easily been in the same position. We floated like this in the water everlastingly until she rested her weary head on my shoulder and shed a few tears. I hadn’t even noticed. And what started out as whimpers soon turned to a hysteria of sobbing into my chest.

               You should note that I've never seen someone cry their heart out with so much style; no smears or streaks. The moment she started crying was the moment I must've known her best. And for her, it must have been a healthy release of blue emotions that weighed her down. 

              Unsure of what was the right thing to do, I decided to embrace her tighter in my arms, landing a kiss atop her golden locks.

               She strung together a confession there that night, at the time I wasn’t bothered; nor am I now in present day, especially now. However, I couldn’t link the relevance of the news to my life. 

               When I did I thought to myself.

_Eventually, I was going to have a family in my life._

               Though it only had been a few months she must have seen me as a potential life long partner the same way I did her. I should confess that I was really apprehensive. So, to ease my nerves I inquired her further on the subject of her child as well as who the father was.

               The two of us agreed without a word spoken that it had come time to leave the hotel and get ourselves home. We carried the conversation to the car instead. Sitting in silence for the first five minutes of the extremely tense drive. The wind pushed the car to no avail. We were going forwards and nothing but a blessed tragedy can change that. To get the conversation to flow further I took my free hand and innocently stroked her leg, then followed through with asking her if she was okay. To my own benefit, of course, I was intrigued to know more concerning the child of hers. _I don't believe that's manipulation?_

                He was a boy, his name is Ciel, his father goes by Vincent. Vincent, she explained to me; was her boyfriend (if you can even call it that at fourteen). Regardless, the relationship was rather successful while it lasted, she continued, yet a series of unfortunate events she left unspoken led to a separation one year later. She admitted almost shamefully that she still loved him dearly, and one of the reasons she let me take her out was because she saw me as a parallel to her former "friend". Same alluring qualities that had drawn her in, she had a few pictures of him saved on her phone that she was eager to present to me. I pulled over on the side of the long and rain-washed highway; not my brightest moment.

               She had pulled out her phone and presented me with the evidence, I should say I look nothing like him really. Not to appear arrogant, yet I still find myself much more physically appealing. She smiled down at her lap where the phone laid. I reached out my hand and turned it off, planting a light kiss on her cheek. I then pointed her face towards mine, beginning to trace her lips lightly with the tip of my finger. Her hand reached for mine, they interlock, and we proceed to kiss tenderly. I doubt I could ever share such a wondrous moment with another ever again. I suppose I lost the entire world when I handed my heart over to this one.

               It truly is a cruelty of life that a heart continues beating even after it has been broken in two. The news presented to me, concerning the child and Vincent, was only the sliver of the cake of mournful news.

* * *

                The gentle scent of the roses kindled memories. Memories of the flowers bordering the perimeter of the chapel, on our wedding day. The day we were wed, was shadowed by the overcast of gray skies above. (I mean, how much more backwards can you get?) Whether this was a foreshadowing attempt from the big guy up there in the sky (if he is there), the mere thought of it still baffles me daily. Her parents seemed to approve of the marriage. Or at least pretended they did, and it was enough for me. It led to us two love birds, developing a short-lived marriage of few years.

                See, the first half of our marriage was ideal, heavenly, perfect. The child, Ciel and I got on well. He enjoyed my time spent with him, I would presume it’s because his mother fell into the hands of a gentleman. Never, taking advantage of either of them, the first time I hadn't used someone to my advantage really. He had taken in my aroma, bathed in my soft words and felt the warm touch of gentle hands. One night, when he was preparing to go to sleep, he wrapped his frail arms around my neck implying for me to come closer. So I did, he whispered in my ear.

                _ **“**_ _**I like you a little better than mum, don’t mention it though.”** _

                 I’m a sucker for such kind words pouring out of a child’s mouth that knows such honesty, and only honesty. Still, I wish he carried on in similar ways daily. Ciel, he never really smiled, he smirked sometimes. It wasn’t of happiness though, it never was, it never is. The first time I ever saw an expression form on his lips was the first time we played a game of hide and go seek together. It must’ve taken me hours to find the kid, my levels of worry were sky high. Finally, when I did find him he smiled, probably out of amusement considering it took me so long to find him. His mind is still a surging perplexity to me. There were days where it felt like my brain cells have been randomized, I think I know him and then he’s a stranger.

                 Whether it was my preoccupation with Ciel that led to Rachel’s instability or not, the guilt comes in and takes me down the old familiar path. I want to refuse to walk it. I want to wash away my thoughts, but if I did I'd never learn from what happened. Those who don't learn from history are doomed to repeat it. I can’t stand that. I can’t stand it because it’s true. 

                 I know now, there are no safe ways through the badlands, I think I learned that the hard way. She used to love the way the leaves move in the breeze and that soft whispering sound they make. Yet, the silent killer kept approaching her each and every day. He was there when she watered the hydrangea in the garden, he was there when she drove the Volvo to drop Ciel off at preschool, he was there in the safety of her own home. Always behind her, shadowing, and eventually catching up to her head. All she felt, all she heard, all she saw was the silent killer. 

**_“I travel forwards and backwards, seeing things that aren't meant for the eyes of others.”_ **

                  She had admitted to me one sleepless night, I’m a fool for not taking action on such delusional words. Then, somehow everything fell, time had begun to dissolve into itself, the days started swallowing me up whole. Midnight fell like a thick black velvet blanket upon our home that was no longer complete. Rachel never told me what made her weak, so I just assumed it that she was upset with someone. But love tore us apart. Love tore her apart, and that’s all she left for me in her note. It’s unforgivable what I’ve done. Letting one of two people who meant the world to me corrupt themselves until nothing was left, can you blame me? Because I sure can, I was clueless yes, I didn’t have to act clueless. I could’ve involved myself more, I should’ve involved myself more.

* * *

                    The funeral took place in spring, and the day’s glare was offensively bright and cheerful. Birds sang, flowers bloomed, and I cried. There will always be a part of me still at her funeral, listening to the hymns from the mournful flesh and blood.

                    Thankfully, even after Rachel’s passing she left the last thing I love and will ever love to me, rather than his own father. I’m not perfect, I know, yet I would defend Ciel with my life even if the odds were insurmountable. I would fight a waging war when Ciel is threatened doing what is necessary for a noble defense. Love is not a concept for sheep, for sheep run at the first sign of fear; it is a concept for lions, so Ciel should never expect my presence to withdraw. Much like that of his father’s, who's just a runaway.

                     Soon, not long after her death, things started changing once again. Silence had started to caress our lives smoothing the rough edges of our lives. For a while, it was trusting, calm, and peaceful. Then, it started to poison the blood running through my veins, for in that void of sound the shallowness of our conversation was laid bare. I can’t pin the exact day or week even month Ciel stopped speaking altogether. All I know is that the point of conversing became utterly vapid. History repeated itself just as it was doomed to. I planned to redeem myself this time, involving myself more and taking action was my plan. It was all perfect, an ideal plan to help my son, getting him to speak again. I forgot everyone was different, and when I took him to a therapist all he did was sit there through his session without a word spoken. Except for the occasional...

**_“I dunno.”_ **

**_“Ciel, why? Tell me why you stopped talking?”_ **

**_“I dunno.”_ **

                      His therapist would often tell me that the sessions weren’t getting anywhere, that I was wasting my time and money. Claiming that he would do nothing except waste time away sitting on the couch across from her. My sliver of hope and plans of being the perfect parent were doomed and I eventually gave into melancholy. Since he never spoke, I forced myself to perfect the art of reading body language. His shoulders were never slumped yet his eyes cast down in a mournful gaze much like mine. What started out as what I assumed to be a phase that would die down soon enough, has gone on for 9 years.  I kept imagining the same thing over again, a paradise being taken apart at its will. The organization of an entire kingdom being ripped apart piece by piece. Otherwise known as our lonely home. I go to the doctors, begging them to find an answer, eventually though Ciel was diagnosed with _selective mutism._ What it meant was just the name, he freezes up when he needs to speak, feels like his vocal chords have stopped working, that he’s physically unable to make sounds. Of course, his vocal chords work perfectly fine for the very few times it’s mandatory. My questions usually stemmed from why this came about, my answer would always end up the same; his mother’s suicide. The trauma from past events, was it not?

                      I have to admit these past 9 years have been painfully lonely, especially when your own step-son refuses to speak with you, going as far as not to manage a simple _…_

_**“hello”** _

                       Still, I no longer care for such selfish things, my main priority now is to have him happy and healthy. Loneliness, it’s been here for years. Loneliness brings life into another realm, quietness is the new beginning for the two of us, I don’t enjoy not knowing what’s going on with him, I can’t help him in any way. Yet somehow, for as long as I’ve known him, practically his whole life he’s been a form of magic, that magic still flowed rampant and wild through a world. I hope to one day see him reach his full potential, while some might say he already has. Ciel is certainly a great student, judging by the grades he brings home. The truth is I have no clue of what’s going on regarding his school life, I am a mere silhouetted figure that crosses paths with him. If I do know one thing is that Ciel hasn’t had any friends except for the occasional person who clings onto him no matter what. I can’t say I’m surprised, he doesn’t speak, that fact alone contributes to a lot regarding social interactions. I don’t mind, he stays out of trouble and I would never force the idea upon him, chances are he would just shrug his shoulders and walk away.

                         Instead, he spends his free time reading, a lot for that matter. Name any book, he’s read it I’m sure. Any genre, any story it all seems to pique his interest somehow. When he’s not reading he might be watching TV, yet when it comes to television it’s mindless shows with no particular plot and it’s a different one every day. The reason why he might be going through stories so fast and watching different mindless shows every day is so that I never settle on what he likes. He’s private like that, acts like I don’t know him. I do know him, and I know he cares so much but putting himself in a position like that, makes him vulnerable. Acting as if he were a robot is much easier for him I guess, but I do know him.

**_I do know him._ **


	2. Ciel

                 If the clock reads 6:30 am, I’ve somehow managed to trudge my body out of bed and smack the alarm clock on its top. The morning brings strings of white through the curtains. The clouds, they drift lazily in the breeze without destination or purpose. How melodramatic of me, I should be getting myself prepped for the school day. As I rose from the heavy slumber I am first aware of the coolness of the air and its familiar fragrance. 

                 Sitting up in my bed, I clear my mind of these thoughts and leave them be in the safety of my tangled ivory sheets.

                I wandered down the long hallway to my bathroom and heard the usual metallic clatter of pots and pans, splutter of water from the kitchen faucet, and the aroma of pancakes wafting up the stairs. Ignoring it, mostly because I despise pancakes I continued to the shower. I watched my feet take steps across the glossy tiles and pressed on the panel that reveals the shower head, several scented shampoos, and soaps that lined the walls of this area, I am aware it's over the top, but I’m not in charge of the interior designs of my shower. After I’ve slipped off my night clothes, I step into the shower, toes flinching as they touch the chilled ceramic floor. I turned the modern and would-be-oh-so-confusing-to-figure-out-for-most dial which released thousands of steaming drops of water that darkened my hair and trickled down my pale back. The sensation of the steamy water calms me; it takes my mind off things. I start by lathering my hair in the thickness of a sandalwood scented shampoo. Following that, I massage my arms and then legs with an almond musk scented body wash. The foam rinses over my overly slender figure and when it does I lift my hand to turn the dial back to OFF. The panel opens and a plush towel awaits for me not too far from where I’m standing. My head fogged with the steam of the shower, I half walk-half stumble to it. I then wrap the towel and adjust it around my waist. Looking around the room for another towel to dry my hair, I instead notice my phone bumbling with texts messages as its screen flashes in the reflection of the mirror. Instinctively, I stride towards it and peer down at its screen as tiny droplets of now cold water fall onto it. 

                McMillan of course. Just, dying to know if I need a ride to school this morning. Well, I suppose I’ll take advantage of this opportunity not to reply and leave him on read. I can’t be bothered to deal with _it,_ and when the flash of annoyance comes so does a bad idea.

                I spot the second towel I was searching for only seconds ago and dry my hair until it turns damp, no longer spewing droplets all over the chilled tiles. As I gather my clothing and reach for the door handle I catch a glimpse of my reflection. The mirror had no patina of age over its frame, likewise, the surface of the glass was ideally clean with a few splotches of mist lining the edges. So, I could not process any distortion with my image, right? It’s not who was physically standing in the glass. It was who was inside that person. But what was inside that person. No vocal chords that prepare for speech when questions are posed, no muscles in the face that tense up into a smile when greeted, everything just falters and if I don’t snap out of this soap opera I’ll bore myself to death. Instead, I storm out of the washroom and crash into Sebastian’s chest, the last form of contact I need right now. 

                “How perceptive you are." He greets me with a chuckle laying underneath his words "You’re gonna be late if you keep up this routine of yours.”

                Avoiding contact with his piercing eyes that catch a burgundy shade when the sun’s rays travel through the blinds and hit his iris’ he continues.

                “What I meant is go grab a bite of breakfast at the least, I’m not letting you turn into a bag of bones.”

                He’s practically calling out to me now, I’m halfway down the hallway to my bedroom where I lazily throw on my school uniform consisting of a collared shirt, navy sweater vest, and matching trousers. I snatch my bag and throw it over my shoulder as I close the door to my room.

                 “You heard what I said, didn’t you?”

                  Managing to keep my long sigh in, I nod my head and run out the door without much regard to what he said.

* * *

                 Since I completely neglected the messages from earlier, I’ll have to make sure I catch the bus to my school. Oh yes, and hide my face if McMillan and his mother drive by. It’s half past seven as the bus trundles down the perfectly paved road. It pulls up to where I’m standing in the grass. The grass has that bluish tinge I associate with the seaside (though we don’t really have the sea per say around here), it's coarse and tough though, I prefer it over the tame grass of the suburban gardens in this neighborhood. Just as all the yards and gardens are the same, so are the houses. Really large houses lined the streets standing tall with acres of land shadowing them from behind. Though I was glancing over my right shoulder the whole time I notice the large doors open without a sound. I plant my feet one step after the other on the platform then make eye contact with the clearly perverted bus driver. How silly of him, instead I responded flirtatiously and cracked a smirk. Better play around with old hags while I still have the look of a young girl. Once I tapped my card I took my seat at my usual spot at the back left corner. Why this spot specifically? It gives me the perfect view of the London citizens riding the bus. Everyone awake. Everyone asleep. Their eyes are bleary, reactions slow, tiredness running in their veins just the same as their blood. The fact of the matter is when you pay attention you see things others don’t. I’d much rather see the mistakes of others progress then **_speak_ ** and cause my own.

* * *

                 Art, English, Maths, and French. Those are the lessons I’ll be sitting through, and Weston College for young men couldn’t be more of a shitty posh fest. It’s a funny thing you know, you can make policies ten miles long and alphabetize your filing cabinet. You can attend meetings and dress real nice. But most people who attend this school turn into complete morons or even worse-like their parents. And every single year my one man statistic grows truer. Instead of the needless conversation about the affairs their mother had with some local in Spain, I’d much rather get through school as quickly as possible. And as it’s clearly noticeable, speech like that would slow the process.

                 The wind howls as the students arrive through the gates that stand larger than life, teachers are greeting each other in the hallways too. Everyone is much more relaxed today because it’s the end of the school week, so it’s quite possible I’ll be able to get away with doing things, or maybe I should say not doing things. Hopefully, that’s true or else, I’ll be sitting through an endless cycle of routine. And just my luck, I was 25 minutes early so I have 25 minutes to do nothing. I would’ve taken the next bus, however, I really didn’t want to be bothered by Sebastian so early in the morning. He’ll just go on and pull a silent disappointment face towards himself that I have to see, indicating that he thinks it’s all his fault that I don’t speak. 

                Anyways, when the people watching gets boring, I’ll pull up a book. The book of this week is “The Master and Margarita.” It’s actually quite the book, with only a few chapters left to go. I sit myself on a bench that was likely exposed to the elements of many, many seasons.

                “What have you been up to?” A scratchy voice lets out from over top.

                When I look up, I spot McMillan who quickly takes the not so available spot next to me on the bench.

                “You didn’t reply to my texts, at least you’re at school now. So, someone told me we’ll be going to an assembly about new policies and stuff, you heard about what happened at the last one though? Didn’t you Ciel? Ciel?”

                His non-stop blabbing comes to a halt and stops for a moment. Is it the end? Oh surely not, he’s just taking a breather. He’s going to tell me exactly what happened play by play.

                “Anyways, Alfie made a joke about Crispin’s pubes saying he hasn’t got any before they had to go up on stage to make a speech about recycling together, Crispin got like, mad angry! Went gaga on Alfie and threw a punch at him, crazy, isn’t it? That’s not all of it though, Alfie got mad too, kicked him in the balls. Then the curtain opened and everyone saw his willy cos’ his pants got pulled. Alfie was actually right all along, Crispin hasn’t got any pubic hair! Crazy, year eleven and still none.”

                I’d be lying if I told you that this was the most disgusting thing I’ve heard come out of a pre-pubescent kid’s mouth.

* * *

               The halls were crowded with people, and the chaos was so perfect, like a movie. Except without the couples making out, and the dramatic cliques. I had managed to push past the constant stream of children and to my first class of the day; English. I took my seat and as the minutes of the lesson passed, the ceaseless buzzing of the classroom and the unlimited amount of energy the students contained increased throughout the lessons. Likewise, with the teachers. The day began with starting a new novel study, and a few sarcastic remarks from students projecting their _excitement_. Then Maths, a free period dedicated to revision. French, another novel study, and revision of verb conjugations. Art, well I skipped art. 

                I got away easily, art teachers rarely ever take attendance. Everyone’s in class so the hallways have been replaced with complete silence. The floor is shiny though, brought to a high polish by the caretaker, and no kids walking in them for the past half hour. I catch view of my locker, that resembles the others identically. Without much worry of getting caught I open it, taking my time placing textbooks in my school bag. 

                Now, it was time for the great escape. I just walk straight out the doors.

* * *

                 The autumn brought forth an early evening, and Sebastian doesn’t come home until really late in the evening. It’s not the first time in my life, that I’ve found myself alone. Every day after school, I lie down on the couch reading books and watching stupid talk shows - no communication with friends or others. When I finish this ritual of sorts, I’ll go back upstairs and pull up a wooden box down from under my bed. I sit at the edge of my bed, taking off my vest and loosening my tie. I don’t really bother with keeping it under lock and key, there’s no point. I know for a fact Sebastian never goes in my room. When would he even have the time?

                So what’s in the box you might be thinking. A portal to another dimension? Scriptures from hundreds of years back? A dead body? Nothing nearly as interesting as that.

                It’s my mother’s diaries and the suicide note.

                Sebastian thought he had lost the diaries and note in the move. In truth, I had them the entire time. And it’s not like I read them every day, only on sunny afternoons like these. As fucked as it sounds, it reminds me of her funeral day. Everything was and still is backwards for this family. My mother and Sebastian were even wed on overcast.

                So every bright and shining day, I try to put the pieces of this puzzle together, and here I present today’s piece.

 _The weight pressed down on my shoulders, too much. All of it. The noises are here too, they came to visit today. I looked into Ciel’s eyes today, I think they caught him too. Creeping. He’s laughing though, he’s happy. I’m happy. I’m so happy he’s happy. Happy. Sebastian loves him yeah. No love though. Safe. He’s safe. Sebastian and Ciel. Happy. Leave._  

                I’d be lying if I told you that this was the most disturbing thing I’ve heard come out these diaries. Nevertheless, I find a few of these entries to be rather tacky, almost as if it weren’t even written by someone who was truly mentally ill. More like someone who was trying to play the part.

                I take off my already loosened tie and throw it on the hardwood floor that is plastered all over the area of my room, followed with lightly jog down the stairs. I’m going to be the one making dinner tonight just as every other night. Sebastian makes us breakfast, I make dinner. The simple routine that was sort of established on its own.

* * *

                 “Long day, even longer hours. Nevermind that though, _wonderful_ day for you today huh? You seem exhausted.” Sebastian announced loudly as he strode through the doors, he keeps going down the hallway and sets his jacket in the closet. Now, he decides to do the most obnoxious thing possible at the moment and ruffles my already messy overgrown hair (just the way I like it).

                “Ciel, are you not gonna change out of your uniform?”

                I shake my head in response and go to the dining room to set the table for two. It was a grand space, to say the least. The huge mahogany table took up most of the vast space the dark room offered. I don’t even know why we have it, yes Sebastian has meetings here with his co-workers from the hedge fund, it’s never more than ten people though. Why do we have a table that sits eighteen? Maybe it’s because he fills up the silence of our home with luxurious furniture. How childish. Not only that, down the center of the table was a runner with a Celtic design woven in gold and blue into the fabric itself. At the end of the table were floor to ceiling french doors, left slightly ajar to let in the scented autumn air.

                The moment we sat ourselves down, the same rhetorical question seems to buzz around me like a fly that you can never swat. Every word, movement and breath he performed seemed to infuriate me to no end. Instead, I sit in this extravagant chair chewing each mouthful thoughtfully while nodding my head like a maniac to each and every one of his questions. And when the questions stop, he starts talking about him and his day of course.

                “As the manager, I would naturally fire him for implicating himself in such inhumane matters, somehow though, it’s working out for the company. And I guess as long as no one finds out, it’s alright. It’s not like I can be even named as an accomplice, it’s only what I’ve overheard.” 

                He was describing a potential crime going on in his very own company, and not giving two shits about it. Not like I was surprised or at all mad, it’s what I expect from him. On the flipside, it’s not like he’s committing the crime so I really couldn’t care less if some random at the company is a fraud through _Insider Trading._ Our evening continues like this and he won’t stop blabbing. I can’t say it’s the same annoyance through speech like McMillan. This conversation is much more relaxed and educated and just not about...um... pubes. Normally, Sebastian would be very reserved and if I did speak he wouldn’t have to talk for two. I’m sure he thinks talking nonstop will result in me talking again, it clearly hasn’t and it clearly won’t, so why bother. 

                He finishes his food, thanking me as he stands up from his seat to take a call. I look up to see him already in his study with the door half closed. I sigh very deeply without noise and push my food around on the plate as I wallow in tiredness. A few minutes later, when I realize he won’t come sit back down from the phone call, I swiftly gather the plates and silverware off the table and carry them to the kitchen sink. It doesn’t take me long to clean everything up. The plates return to their home, which are the cherry red cabinets. _“The smooth and waxed Veneer gives it a mysterious edge.”_ Said the guy who installed them for us.

                I close those treasured doors to the cabinets and start unbuttoning the top buttons on my shirt when I head for the stairs. I’m interrupted by the only voice it could’ve possibly been and whip my head around to make direct eye contact with him.

                He’s still on the phone, he looks way more relaxed now so it must be Claude or something. 

                “I’m going to Claude’s birthday party tonight, sorry I forgot to mention that at dinner.” His mind derails for a moment then snaps back. “Call me if you need anything.” He ended the conversation abruptly. I nodded as he headed out the door. Smiling to myself as if he would think anything would go wrong. 

                And by the looks of it, I’ll be going out tonight as well.

* * *

                 It must’ve looked like I came from a preppy underground concert from the 90's or something. Only seconds ago I pulled out a Lacoste black polo, overtop a leather jacket of which I managed to find a size small enough to be fitted around the arms and torso. Finally, casual trousers and that’s as interesting as it gets.

                Normally, I would’ve had to make my approach to the ground floor stealthily, times like these I’m glad Sebastian stays out almost all night. I would have to listen intently, where he is, what room he’s in, what mood he’s in (and that usually determines his whereabouts) it’s a whole process. Still, though, I’m going to have to leave through the door at the back and departing through the garden. Sebastian has cameras that detect any motion near the front doors, they would start buzzing crazily if I was a complete _genius_ and left through the front.

                I lock the doors to my room leaving my phone in there, taking only one cigarette from Sebastian’s pillowcase (that I can’t light until I’m quite far from the house) and 40 British pounds. I make my way through the long hallway, to my right stands a painting that dominates these walls, it just doesn’t suit the tone of this house in the slightest. I pass right by it as I place a delicate hand over the railing to support myself running down the stairs. Not a single creak in them as I run along, I reached the doors to the garden and lock the doors once I step out. I usually store my keys in my shoes, even though it’s dreadfully uncomfortable. Yet, I think it’s common sense that when you go to a rave it’s a horrid idea to store any important belongings in your trouser pockets. The twinkling lights that illuminate the garden from over top, making the journey through the gates that much more simple. 

                I’m quite lucky in the sense that our house isn’t far from the city, it’s only a 15 minute really slow walk there. Ivy and ferns grew through the crevices of the old winding stone path, which led directly to the grand gates. Tangled thickets of thorn, flower beds, tangled hawthorn, autumn hues, knotted boughs, branches drooped dankly. It looks gorgeous at night, everything is. The city must be the most interesting of all though. 

                The iron gate was fashioned to look antique but the hinges were undoubtedly new. I scanned the stone walls for inconsistencies and at first, I saw none, just moss, and lichen. The lock and everything must’ve been the same, the only reason I’m so paranoid about inspecting it is so that I’ll guarantee myself a way back inside. A few months ago, Sebastian unknowingly changed the locks, I ended climbing up and over the tall gates, killing myself figuratively and almost literally in the process. 

                Carefully locking the gates back up, I start to hear something rustling in the bushes. Of course, it’s not an animal or something, because it never is. It’s always a psycho with a chainsaw, even worse what I saw when it came out from under the bushes was a psycho with a lollipop instead.

                “Ciel! Damn it you scared me!”

                This wanker thinks I scared him? He’s got to be having a laugh. Thankfully it was dark enough that McMillan didn’t see my eyes roll into another dimension. I chose not to listen to him speaking the rest of the way to town, I can’t afford the brain cells not with GCSEs coming up.

* * *

                 “Can I have just one! I promise not to sneak up in your garden anymore, well I wasn’t going to either way. You know you’ve got garden snakes? Don’t you?”

                I gave into the nuisance he calls a voice and handed him one cigarette to shut him up. Hopefully, he’ll throw himself into a coughing fit that hurts so much he won’t even dream of speaking the rest of the night. Speaking of which, the lingering light of the sun was obliterated by the rapidly falling night. The once salmon and purple sky transformed into a vast expanse of jet-black that engulfed the town. Still, though it had an awfully beautiful velvet quality about it. It consumed me so much I didn’t hear half of McMillan’s predicted coughing fit. I suppose I could’ve taught him to inhale properly, but do you see the fun in that?

* * *

                 When we arrive, I realized I couldn't have been more alive if I was shouting from a mountain top. I’m just buzzing with pure electricity. I feel as if my soul will shine so bright my skin will start to glow like my aura would become visible. I could dance for millennia and then some more. McMillan, on the other hand, felt the side effects of his first cigarette way too early in the night that I had to ditch him. If he could get to my garden alone he can get home alone as well. It looks like raves aren’t really his thing at the moment. The lights are flashing faster and brighter than I’ve ever seen, and I can’t feel myself in the slightest. Everything is so far gone, and past me now.

                Wow.

                Everything then stops, and I’m losing the feeling of euphoria in my veins. Because right then and there nostalgia hits me so hard, my usual tactics of escapism are lost. Vanished by Crystal Castles started playing, I remembered Sebastian. He plays it all the time, and a wave of guilt almost washes over me as I think of him, and then think of what I’m doing.

                Did I mention the word _almost?_ Because that’s exactly what I mean, the cops broke up the party. So much for underground security for parties like this. I knew this was going to happen eventually, I didn’t expect it to happen so soon. So soon, that I haven’t even come up with an escape route. Is it possible that I’ll be able to hide somewhere until they all leave? I look over my shoulders and notice two men running to the far right ahead of me. It would be extremely easy for me to just follow them out but I can’t see far enough to see if there are any cops along the way.

                Too late now, I’ve made eye contact with one who starts charging at me. I don’t have much of a choice except to endure whatever punishment this bastard wants to bestow upon me. If that little prick McMillan got away, I’ll have to deem myself completely incompetent.

                “You look a little young to be here, you know this party’s illegal yeah?”

                I break my gaze with him and look to my left which distracts him like a child. Then he looks back pressing me to speak up and stop acting like a _“pussy”_. I look back to him and cock my head to the side with a sly smirk. Hopeless man can’t seem to be the least bit flustered, that stings.

                “I’m assuming you don’t have an ID, either.”

                He doesn’t seem to bother with handcuffs, the man looks so broad he could easily snap my neck like a toothpick if only he tried. We pass through the several groups of people getting questioned and from what I’ve picked up from the few stops the cop made to speak with the others I learned that someone got stabbed by some gang member. London gangs aren’t aggressive from what I’ve seen, most of them have bricks for brains.

* * *

                 A police car comes screeching down the hill, a knight in his white charger, black tires squealing on the gray as he skids to block the street. If this wasn't such a very bad time I'd admire it as a classic, talk sports team with the cop. Not today. I’m going to have to find a way to get out of this situation before Sebastian gets home. We were traveling south at a speed slower than a flower blooming in drought. It was slow enough for a random to run up to the car window and knock on it. The conversation was muffled so I couldn’t make out much of it. However, in around two minutes time, I’m let out of the cop cruiser and faced with some punk looking kid who offered me to come along with him to have an _“even better time than a rave shit magnet”._

                Without a moment’s hesitation, I refuse his half-hearted invitation and walk away. One thing after another completely throws me off schedule.

                Once I’m out of sight of the crowds, I start running faster than I thought possible. I run, feet kissing the land. Perhaps a little while ago I would have balked at the idea of running so far and fast, now I relish the prospect. The 15-minute walk turns out to be a 5-minute sprint and I’ve never been so excited to see my garden. I limp back to the house and close the door behind me.


	3. Sebastian

         Before the day has started for the masses I am already in my kitchen, and not nearly ready to go. This isn’t really normal for me, day to day, everything is organized and in place. Waking up half an hour late pushes back a ton of things I was meant to get done.

         For me, It’s not year 10 anymore, so sadly I can’t throw on a uniform and eat whatever crap’s in the fridge that morning. And Ciel has all the bad habits I worked seven years to lose. I ate the crap, got upset, and happy, and treated everyone like they had an expiry date. I was just like that until eighteen. It was a lot of fun. We got drunk, arrested and arrested while drunk. We chatted up the girls and cooked up get-rich-quick schemes. Bit by bit it changed though. It started with exercise and finished with proposing to Rachel. Everything up until that moment had just been exciting and fun: the whirlwind romance, the wedding, the honeymoon in Italy, the vacations and the parties with friends. Adding on to my previous statement, I take the initiative to make an actual meal before my son wakes, maybe I’m hoping he’ll break some of his habits. 

         The only thing rushing faster than me this morning was the tea kettle bringing itself to a boil. The breakfast I did make consists of warm pancakes, homemade jams, and assortments of berries. Which is finally now on the table awaiting Ciel’s arrival. All I have to do is go check up on him now. Not that I have an exhausting amount of time (as I’ve already mentioned several times) for trivial things like checking up on him prior to work, it just seems like I’m slacking on my “fatherly” duties. Which I don’t feel too great about, but sometimes it seems as if he doesn’t want me there for him at all. Parenting is the one job you never quit. Every day is a new chance to get things right, for most, it’s to sow the seeds of love and confidence. For me, well I’ve already stated my goal loud and clear. My thoughts carry me straight up the marble steps and to my stepson's door frame. The door is surprisingly left slightly unlatched. The last thing he would want is unwelcomed guests coming into his territory without warning. Still, though it makes it much easier for me not to make noise. We wouldn’t want to start WW lll would we?

         Here I stand before a vast room with unmade silken bedsheets, smothered in equally white velvet pillows. The curtains, they matched the wallpaper and were opened wide enough for the sunlight to shine through the rectangular window, lying on the tiled floor like sweet honey. Ciel though, he was nowhere in sight. First thoughts, of course, are that of worry, but I can’t imagine him being anywhere but his bathroom. Just as presumed the rush of water began to sound. With a sigh, I close the immense door to his room and trail off downstairs.

         Just in time as well, the kettle of standard metal began to whistle, the last thing that had to be done this morning. The tea was poured into dainty monochrome cups and which were placed atop saucers of egg-shell china; a miniature silver tray held a sugar-dish, a cream-pot, and a few navy-lined spoons. It was all ready for Ciel’s coming. To be fair, I despise tea so instead, I poured myself a cup of coffee; the first of many I’m going to need today. Mind you, when I looked out the window while pouring the tea, clouds dominated the morning sky leaving not a patch of blue. Though they are mostly white there is a hint of grayness, a suggestion that rain may play a part in the day to come. It certainly won’t be pleasant to drive to work if a downpour decides to come around, however British weather shows no mercy; I doubt I’ll take a victory there knowing my luck.  I proceeded to peer at the clock set on the wall and had realized I read the time completely wrong. Seeing as I read it as an hour ahead of what it was 6:40, not 7:40 and with my new found relief flushing through me I sit myself up top the counter and sip my coffee, the air now full of its aroma. I cock my head to the side and my eyes race to notice a bottle of rum sitting on the counter.      

         “No, not in the morning.” I chastise myself quietly.

         Hopping off the counter I rush to store it in the cabinet, and out of my sight.

* * *

         Being a hedge fund manager, you can’t exactly come to work in your night clothes, I wish you could because I really don’t fancy suits that don’t adjust to your body even if they’re tailored specifically for you. Or ties that are often far too tight and whipping your head the wrong way results in choking fits. 

         Nonetheless, mine was ironed the other day it felt clean, crisp and right from my ankles to my shoulders. The blazer was on the verge of not working appropriate seeming as it had leather detailing on the right with subtle zippers nearing the shoulder area. Underneath a white dress shirt with no extra personal touches. The trousers had zippers that matched its component blazer and possesses an equal shade of black. Finally, matte dress shoes that I finish tying and storm out the door with.

         Although I normally don’t have a minute to waste, and since today I lazily read the time, I spared a minute to advise Ciel to come out of the shower already. If I’m not going to be late, I can’t imagine him being late either. I stride down the hallway with my hands stored in the pockets of my trousers and stop at his door. I tap my foot for a few minutes on the hardwood floor that plasters the hallway. I run my hand through my obsidian colored hair, impatience growing rapidly. Just as I go for the handle his still damp, blue tinted hair went straight for my chest as he bumped into me, smelling of sandalwood and musk. He stumbles back, then locks an awkward stare with me that lacks any emotion. 

         “How perceptive you are.” I end with a light laugh and continue “You’re gonna be late if you keep up this routine of yours.” 

         He avoids eye contact with me as much as he can and doesn’t appear amused in the slightest, and it’s not even 7 am yet. Once such a happy kid turned into an adult in a child’s body. It’s odd and it makes him mysterious to most. The no-talking thing has a lot to do with it of course, but it doesn’t interest me, it just lets me down. He’s clever though, smart too, charming, and cunning you name it. It hurts so much to see him hate me so much, hate colors the soul, the easiest thing to spot. It spreads throughout the entire system, shutting down all other feelings, and becoming central to the life and the intent of the person, it’s just so damn prominent. I always wonder though, is it because he thinks it was my fault? That it was all because of me? I do blame myself, I just didn’t think he did. I snap back to our half-hearted conversation and continue. 

         “What I meant is go grab a bite of breakfast at the least, I’m not letting you turn into a bag of bones.”

         But he’s already down the hall ignoring my words completely. I lean my head against the wall in the hallway and try and distract myself from attacking my own head. 

         So, today, what’s today? April 27th. Today is Claude’s birthday, I’ll have to stop by the liquor store today. His favorite is Cognac so I’ll get three bottles. Two for him one for me. It’s going to be an exhaustingly long day since I’ll probably end up in some loud and fancy venue for his party. I’d much rather spend time with the kid who just came running past me dressed in his school uniform after work.

         “You heard what I said, didn’t you?” I ask to which he responds with a nod of the head. But only to realize and hear the sound of the doors shutting.

* * *

         I slump to my car, distraught from past events considering he’s the last thing left that I love. My melancholy mood hung over me like a black cloud, raining my personal sorrow down on me wherever I went. Even the colors of the autumn day were drab to me now and the birdsong like so much noise on a child's glockenspiel, grating my nerves.With keys in hand to the jet black Cadillac that stands perfectly parked in the stone pillar lined the driveway. The door opens smoothly with the only noise being a slight click. I step into the driver’s seat and lock the door behind me. I’m soon engulfed in smooth leather cushioning and tinted windows. Before starting the engine I locate the button for the stereo and decide I’ll listen to Joy Division on my way there. First track, Disorder.

         Backing out of the driveway is the worst part of the experience, always doomed to hit something, aren’t I?

* * *

          In the city, the highway was black and fresh, yellow paint as perfect as a child's picture book. Soon, my car joins a train of others, mostly other office works with “vital” paper to push for twelve or more hours. I only have to stare at a computer and throw away my company’s money that comes back in an excruciatingly amount more than I invested. The stocks have actually been in my favor this past week when I didn’t predict they would. Rain washed sidewalks begin to form along the highway indicating that I’m close to the city.

         The car engine sang to the lonesome road matching the monotone voice from the stereo. And that’s when I realize, ten minutes upon entering the freeway I come to an awful realization. Ten minutes into the Unknown Pleasures album. I realize that…

          _I’m such a fucking cliche._

         Young, upper class sad white guy who only wears dark colors listening to sad music in his expensive car.

         Quickly out of “horror”, I shut off the sound system. The truth is, I really don’t care for all this expensive baggage when I was first struck with grief I just got advanced to the hedge fund manager at the company and I was faced with more than enough money. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with it so I started spending it on material items. Lots for that matter, I bought a huge house, expensive car, loads of clothes for both me and Ciel, and furniture with prices that cost the same as most apartments in London. Typically I thought I could replace a person with money. Thankfully over the course of only a year within this job, I came to my senses and started using the money to invest in Ciel’s education and future. Because, money, it doesn’t make you happy nor does it make you sad I’d still wallow in the same despair either way.

         “Indeed, I am such a fucking cliche.” I think out loud to myself.

         I spot the liquor store around a minute after I exit on the right of the highway. Beside it there stood a plaza of around a dozen shops, none of them being too far from sketchy. The one of the lot that I needed though was wedged between two buildings that were ever so slightly taller. Where's My Keys is its name, kind of a tongue in the cheek joke that’s not even all that clever. The sign was old, and some letters had become illegible in the peeling paint. Prior to stepping in I looked up and squinted at the sign trying to make out nearly how old it was and then took a giant step to the door. It sounded with a bell as it opened indicating my arrival to the owner who stood there with his palm buried in his chin, nearly ready to fall asleep. Chills ran down my spine as I walked (unusually) tentatively through the aisles while the ceiling lamps flickered one at a time.

         There it was the three bottles I was looking for, swiftly I place them in my basket and place it on the counter for checkout. The man standing at the register eyes were so heavily lidded and weighed down with wrinkled folds that it was almost like talking to someone asleep. He lifts his head from his hand and scans the three 750 mL bottles of practical poison for your kidneys. Scanning them lazily and placing each carefully in a paper bag, I pay as quickly as I can to make up for the time he took and dashed out of the store without uttering more than “have a nice day”.

* * *

         I drive and park my car in my reserved spot. Just then, the sun shines through the passenger window and makes the leather of the seats sweltering hot. I reach my hand over to the handle on the glove compartment to get the sunshade. And if I couldn’t be any more of a cliche, the universe must be testing me. Because when I unfolded the sunshade there laid Rachel’s bracelet. Golden with little flowers dangling. All I can think of is, why in the world is it there?

         Before I have time to get upset, Claude taps on my window trying to attract my attention. I stare at him for a good 10 seconds before opening the window.

         “The princess is gonna be late to the ball, and your carriage is gonna turn into a pumpkin so hurry up will you?”

         “You’re crossing over stories there mate, watch it” I remark sarcastically. 

         “My analogies aren’t good enough for Mr. Hedgehog?”

         “Hedge fund.” I corrected “Did you get me a coffee?”

         “Yeah, you didn’t have time for one this morning?”

         “I did. But dealing with birthday boy over here today.” I punch him in the shoulder “I’m gonna need all the caffeinated shit I can get my hands on.” 

         We strolled through the lot of cars side by side, occasionally stepping in fresh puddles that were a result of British showers until we reached the high rise. A monument to the modern age if you will. Acres of glass strung together with shiny steel. They reflected light as well as any mirror and so incredibly the streets seemed brighter. The doorman stands, well, at the doors, of course, opening them for us as we walk in. Although he seems rather upset every day I greet him with a smile and a thank in return. Claude doesn’t though, he doesn’t notice much really. He’s kind of a bumbling idiot with a stern look on his face at all times. I genuinely believe if we didn’t have a doorman he would walk into the glass at least once a day. The elevators stand at an opposition from the doors. Four elevators for the skyscraper, each one had white marble walls, a blue carpet, a silver handrail, and circular buttons that match the carpet. Those in the lift already leave and greet us with a line of a smile (I’m sure you know the one) and we take their place. Floor 21, up 15 floors and that would be the top of the building. It’s quite lovely up there actually. 

         The city would spread below me, and the world suddenly would feel so wide and free that I wanted to jump. Lights glittered everywhere just like stars dropping to the earth, huge and small buildings collided in a mixture of shadow and geometry, tiny vehicles rushing along tangled lines of streets creating twisting threads of light - they all intertwined together in a magnificent mess of dream. But I have work today, and I’m stuck with one hell of a co-worker today who starts questioning me about the thing I want to talk about the least right now.

         “How’s the kid?” He asks sharply and quickly.

         “Sorry?”

         “Daydreaming?”

         “No sorry I… he’s great.” I lied, I’m not in the mood to explain my personal life to even my best friend.

         “That sounded convincing.”

         “He’s fine, nothing’s ever perfect. You know?”

         “I get that, Hannah’s been annoying as ever lately. Calling me at work saying her back hurts and all that.” 

         “She’s pregnant, don’t be so hard on her. Carry a child and tell me tales of how lovely you are then, then again you’re annoying as it is.”

         “Don’t try and change the subject. I’m trying to help you”

         “Actually, you did. Before we get back on topic though.” I sip my coffee and continue “Got you these? Happy birthday.” 

         “Fuckin’ top man, I can’t though. Trying to be a good father and all that gotta lay it off you know?”

         “Is complaining about your wife a good start?” I tell him as I shove the bottles back in my bag.

         “Right anyways, kid’s not talking, right? I don’t get it mate, boys his age don’t know when to stop talking. Hormones should be flying in the air like fucking birds. Segals specifically that shit is annoying. Ran one over this morning, wouldn’t get out of the road, can’t blame me though.”

         “You would know, you still have the brain and attention span of one yeah?” I complain just as I lose his attention.

         “I wasn’t paying attention to what you said before that, I was thinking like, how am I gonna get the blood off my tires right? Plus, I just wanted to sound like I had something important to say.”

         “Funny, you know you never do.”

         “Really? Who recommended a psych for Ciel? I know you didn’t want to for the longest time until it got so terrible your own step-son can’t look you in the eye anymore. Because he thinks, you killed Rachel I’m telling ya mate, you’re not a shoe-in with your kid anymore he fucking hates you.”

         “She killed herself. You idiot, and anyway your marvelous idea went to shit. All he does is sit there saying I dunno.”

         “Well, there you go he said something!”

         “That’s not fucking speech!” As I finish yelling the elevator door opens. What a time that would’ve been to explain to the people in the office.

         I run my hand through my hair, a habit of mine when under stress, or just when I’m with Claude. Stepping out of the lift we step into a state of half-organized clutter, charcoal colored desks with three drawers on the right-hand side, swivel chairs, Macbook pros, several stacks of paperwork, pens in a tin, and books leaning against one another different directions.

         “God, I need to escape this for a night,” I whisper to Claude as he sets his bag on his desk. Shocked he turns around and says to me words I needed to hear.

         “My birthday party tonight, it’ll be great, you can forget all about… well, you know.”

         “Perfect.”

* * *

         A huge room occupying the corner of the building with floor-to-ceiling windows giving views in two directions of the city. The two remaining walls contained a door, a low bookshelf, and a single oil painting - a vase of flowers by Vincent Van Gogh. My office space is large and uncluttered, probably because I don’t spend a wack load of time in here, I’d much rather spend it outside my office with the other workers of “lower rank”. Although somehow I doubt I have much more skill than any of them do, or maybe I just say that because they’re mostly all close friend of mine. The black glass surface of the desk was equally uncluttered: a computer, a leather notebook, and a framed photograph of a fourteen-year-old boy.

         This is how I spend my weekdays, straining my eyes watching the stock market go up, down, and back around on a top of the line desktop. Whether or not I had jinxed it earlier, I’m not sure, but the stocks started to fall right out of my hands so quickly I had to raise an eyebrow, chin resting atop my fist. Feeling tense and nervous, I stand up rapidly out of my chair and leave my office, suit jacket left lying on the desk.

         And that would’ve been my first mistake.

         I turn the corner to hear someone carelessly chatting about confidential information over the phone concerning the market. I roll my eyes and walk away quickly so that he didn’t sense my presence. I’m gonna have to deal with that later, right now I just need time to myself.

         The hallway is lit brightly and is furnished with plush leather seating every couple meters paired with a wooden side table. It’s wide and full of natural light, the glass panels are so polished that it feels as if you could just fall through, the view is so great like that. I walk my way through without too many distractions to the main room where cubicles are non-existent. Rather we have shared office space where everyone can discuss what they’re to do with the money invested. Not my idea, it was well established before I became the “big boss” around here. I then proceeded to make small talk here and there with everyone to distract myself and gave advice to my colleagues that considered it “genius” I just considered it common sense.

         “All day long I've been sitting at this desk, paperwork piling higher and higher. Save the trees, huh? I don't think the managers here have ever heard of that.” 

         I listened in on a comment from the same man I spotted earlier in the hallway, as I made my way to my office on the other side of the floor.

         Like I said, later. 

* * *

          _Ciel was a quiet (but not mute) and gentle child. He played with legos and toy cars as most boys do as toddlers, but stayed alone and isolated for as long as I can remember. He was a fighter, never staying down if he fell over. He wouldn’t really go out of his way to be nice to other kids at school, mostly stuck to just two friends who didn’t mind how little he spoke with them. He was a skinny kid but mostly healthy, still is I guess. He hated TV and flip flops, that I recall vividly. He wasn’t much of a teacher pleaser, though he always did his best in classes and clever too, learning quickly. He talked up until six maybe, because that’s when it happened._

         I wish I could have saved him from the years ahead of him, but I was only a kid in my late teens back then.

         I thought about all this while watching videos of Ciel riding his bike by himself for the first time without training wheels. How I wish those times would return though.

         My little trip down memory lane is interrupted by Claude. Walking in with our lunches and began almost instantly discussing his party tonight without a greeting. Damn it people don’t know how to speak with manners anymore, do they?

         “Mey-rin?” Claude says as he goes down a list of names of all the people attending.

         “No, no way is she coming.” 

         “Too bad, you’re shit out of luck. Already invited her.”

         “You know, I don’t understand why?”

         He shrugs his shoulders and takes a generous bite out of his sandwich as he stands up out of the chair he pulled up to my desk. He hums a song as he does the common city folk strut across my office to one of the windows behind me. I spin myself around on my chair to face him once again with a proposition.

         “So I can bring MDMA?”

         “I never said you could!” He remarks shockingly. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s the good father thing right.”

         I slowly nod my head, and he’s soon aware of my doubt. All he does is respond immaturely and forms a pouty expression on his lips. 

         “Priss.” I insult him and swivel back to my desk.

* * *

          I rush as fast as I can to my car to avoid the downpour of rain, which by the looks of how it’s going it would be ending rather soon. I throw my head back into the leather and shove my keys into the ignition to start up the car. At this rate, I’ll have to rush home to beat the traffic that must already be blossoming across the highways. I enter the highway soon enough to be ahead of the traffic and begin to think about how the stocks worked themselves out in the end just as they always do. It’s always useless to worry about something so certain yet so uncertain at the same time.

         When I do finally arrive home, I quickly park the car; properly for once and rush to open the door. Ciel is already standing halfway down the hallway and I greet him with a smile.

         “Long day, even longer hours. Nevermind that though, wonderful day for you today huh? You seem exhausted.”

         I drop my bag on the floor and ruffle his hair, not really bringing up his behavior from this morning even though I probably should. If I didn’t ignore a lot of the things he did do or didn’t do we’d have to sit down for a couple days and talk. For example his uniform, why was he still wearing it? I’m not sure. When I was his age I’d rush to get the “school” off me as soon as I could.

         Since it didn’t seem like a comment on it would spark any bad flames, I did.

         “Ciel, are you not gonna change out of your uniform?” I say hesitantly, and he only shakes his head in response. All I can do is shrug my shoulders and move on.

         We sat ourselves down at the table which was already set with our dinner, and I have to admit that Ciel isn’t horrible at cooking (as so it may seem). He’s actually quite the cook, the meals aren’t over extravagant, unlike the dining room, and the flavors tend to always correspond with the seasons of the year. Maybe they don’t measure up to my skills, nevertheless though. His effort surpasses my expectations. Just like with everything else.

         “We” spoke mostly of the day and how it had gone. I spoke of the stock market as usual and as boring as it is, even for myself. As well as that, I mentioned what I had heard someone say over the phone. And without even uttering the legal term for the criminal act. He knew just what I had been speaking of. Or so I presume, as he responded with nodding his head several times.

         “As the manager, I would naturally fire him for implicating himself in such inhumane matters, somehow though, it’s working out for the company. And I guess as long as no one finds out, it’s alright. It’s not like I can be even named as an accomplice, it’s only what I’ve overheard.” 

         And that was it, the feeling of hollowness flowed through me as the conversation filled the air, the time to part arrived. With practiced nonchalance each of us walked away from the other, feeling the wrench of parting not sure if he did though. Instead, I had to take a call from Claude most likely, leaving the table I pay Ciel a thank you for the dinner and he nods his head; as per usual. I take the phone call in my study and listen to my bestest mate speak of his party. He finishes the conversation about all of that with what time it’s starting, and what time I should arrive. I catch Ciel’s glance a few times from the crack in the doorway as he pushes around the food on his plate. I frown as he stands up picking up our dishes to carry them to the sink, clearly flushed with disappointment considering his spying (if you can even call it that) on me.

         Still, on the phone, I rush out from my study and catch Ciel before he makes it back to his room. The navy blue buttons on his shirt are far more loosened than they were earlier and he looks far more fatigued, with droopy eyes and delicate pale fingers running through his hair, might’ve been something he had picked up from yours truly. I stare at him in his natural and messy state for longer than I should have and think about maybe staying home with him, instead, I shake the idea from my mind and end the conversation awkwardly and quickly. 

         “Call me if you need anything.” He throws a confused look my way and furrows his perfect brows, then nods, turns around and lightly jogs up the stairs out of sight once again.

         And I leave through the front doors trying not to look back at those stairs. I can’t imagine him being the kid who would get himself in any trouble while his dad’s gone for a few hours and a few drinks. Then again, I didn’t imagine he’d stop talking completely or that I’d end up with a job like mine. The universe isn’t and never will be for me to handle. And rightfully so. 

* * *

          Now, what the fuck do I see when I walk into this private rented for the night club? World’s best future father, taking shot after shot of tequila. How about that for being a dad, what would I expect from him though. I weave through the guys and girls like a pro, smiling wider than the golden gates. I’m given the same positive attention from everyone as I pass. I’m greeted with several familiar faces as I make my way to my bestest mate sitting on a bar stool.

         “Good father eh? Happy 30th old man.”

         “Yeah yeah, it’ll be your turn next year just you wait.”

         “I must say you really outdid yourself with a place like this, it’s electric.”

         “I was hoping, I’ve got a better idea though. Just you and me right?”

         “I don’t know if I like where this is going you’re pretty drunk off your ass.”

         “Nothing like that, nah. But.” He begins to lean on my shoulder for balance and continues “You’ve got no other choice except to say yeah, cos Mey’s coming over and you don’t want her to be a bother do ya?”

         “What have you got in mind.” I say avoiding tilting my head in the slightest.

* * *

          At the end of the night, we had burst through the doors into the artificial glow of street-lamps, staggering, failing to hail a taxi. In the charcoal of almost-dawn we had arrived at nowhere in particular, however, we were far away from the place he was paying a shit ton of money for, for the night. Laughing and stumbling with that same bottle of cognac in our hands that I purchased earlier today. We sat ourselves on a bench that looks over the river. He took three more generous sips from the brandy and I looked over at him, happy to see the guy smiling. I asked him where we’d be going next and if he knew his way home, he told me it didn’t matter none of it does. So we sat there watching the few boats that roamed the streams. Up and down, up and down, up and…

         I looked over my right shoulder because I started to hear voices, thinking someone had followed us up. Instead, the voices were soon accompanied by instrumentals. Music. From where though? The ground started vibrating, and I couldn’t believe our luck tonight. 

         I walked over to what looked like a sewer and lifted the faux metal plate with ease, Claude soon joined my side we shared a glance of approval with one another and hopped inside to the flashing lights and sound of the underground.

         The music soared through the air like an eagle on an up-draft, taking with it the very souls of the listening audience. It wasn’t what you call beautiful though, it’s actually rather messy, dirty, and insane. Frankly, I love that. Claude appears to like it as well. We hop through the crowd and all it does is crank my joy right up, hijacking my brain. Everything about makes me feel as if it were only yesterday we did this every weekend. Weekend benders, spiked drinks, and things that you didn’t even know weren’t legal.

         Then, of course, that dreaded song plays and hollows my feelings out. It wasn’t just that though, I should mention that familiar faces aren’t always a good thing.

         “Claude, hey! Claude!" 

         “Yeah what’s up?!”

         “Look over there, doesn’t he look like-”

         “Can’t even take your mind off your kid for one night! And I’m the old guy!” He says lovingly with a hint of irritation.

         I suppose he must’ve been right.

         But, a good party ends on a good note. A great one ends on a bad one. Thankfully it was a great one this time though, when the first officer comes he has all the usual height but without the bulk. He must be pushing forty yet he has the build of a teenager, lithe muscle under his uniform. He makes an unusual first stop at the boy that reminded me so much of my Ciel, and he’s quickly taken away by the arm through the exit. Take it as a warning because that’s when the rest of the cops came rushing in arresting whoever caught their eye first. Thankfully Claude and I ran out of that mess quickly enough not to get noticed. I couldn’t help but notice the young kid looking back at us as if he read my thoughts, just as soon he was taken away. I know it can’t be him, but, all I needed was a glimpse at his features just to be sure.

* * *

         I had dropped Claude off after we finished off the bottle, and proceeded to drive home myself. I laugh to myself a few times as I turn to keys to the door and shut it as quietly as I can. I kick off my shoes and think back to my thoughts I left to sit at the back of my head throughout the night. Heart skipping beat after beat, I turn the knob to Ciel’s bedroom, afraid he wasn’t there.

         And he was, I shouldn’t be surprised.

         I finished off the day with a cigarette on the balcony, tomorrow was Saturday anyway. Nothing to lose, nothing to worry for.


	4. Ciel

          Waking up can really be harsh, especially if your dreams are better than reality. The saddest part of it is, though, that eventually, the memory of your dream will fade - if you are even lucky enough to remember it at all that is. All I remember at this point was hearing Sebastian come in late last night. Really late for that matter. I didn’t expect anything less from him, it’s his friend’s birthday and they probably snuck off somewhere to find the last droplet of their youth or something stupid like that. I think to myself as I toss myself around and pull the sheets over my head.

          I get it kind of, I would give anything to be a child again. My soul prefers the old times, the good times of old movies that spun on reels. They were flammable of course, but they flickered and had imperfections that brought them a life modern Hollywood productions can't invoke. Of course, I wasn’t even born then, but it’s what I was brought up on. Dancing from the 20s, admiring Hollywood starlets from the 30s, films of the 40s, and a dash of rock and roll from the 50s and 60s.

          Anyways.

          Those times are over, and it’s Saturday in the 21st century. And the man that usually takes the weekends to sleep in a few extra hours is making the loudest noises he possibly can downstairs. Is that cheeky? I meant again with the pots and pans. I swear.

          Just as I decided I was ready to hop out of bed and head downstairs for a hopefully decent breakfast this morning, I had realized I fell asleep in the clothes I wore the night before. The only thing I managed to pry off of my body was the leather jacket that laid out in the open on the hardwood floor. I squint as soon as my hands reach to rub the sleep from my eyes, all while still sitting at the edge of the bed. I then roll my neck in every direction to avoid cramps I know I’m gonna be getting if I don’t.

          I should just get this routine done and over with instead of wasting precious time, I take off the shirt from earlier, followed by loosening my belt, and now off with my trousers. I replace that clothing with the night clothes _I totally slept in_ consisting of checkered blue pajama trousers and a plain matching top to go along with them. I walk over to my door and fling it open. New day, more shit to be experienced.

* * *

          I dropped down the steps with a steady pace to the kitchen with slight hesitation. To be completely honest, he woke up early for a reason and he’s gonna tell me every single thing about it.

          “Hey, Ciel!” He calls out to me while I’m only midst way down the steps. “Take it with excitement or don’t, you have another appointment today.”

          I’m already seated near the edge of a chair at the table, ready to take a bite of my scrambled eggs and he hits me with this news. I've been so lost in constructing scenarios for the evening ahead that I'm surprised to see how far I've come. And how quickly they will diminish. I don’t know what this man is doing, but what I do know is that he’s trying to score some sort of “brownie points” with me by showing he cares. I know he does, I don’t.

          Anyway, the point is it’s been a lifetime since my last visit, I doubt it’ll be the same psych I’ve had since really early on in my life.

          “Go get dressed mate, and meet me downstairs in 10 minutes?”

          He was upright and rigid like a sergeant major, but his words often proved otherwise. All calm, collected, and cool, I can definitely see how everyone stares at him when we’re in public together. And I mean everyone, they all see him as some walking god. Their gaping eyes full of respect and lust along with everything in between just can’t seem to look away. I’m always the excuse for them to come up and speak to him, “Oh your son is so lovely. Where’s your wife?” or “What a gorgeous kid you’ve got there, say, if you ever need help with babysitting I’d be overjoyed.” It’s not like I mind, what I mind is how awful everyone is at flirting! I stare at him for a few moments as he washes the dishes with my arms crossed across the table. He looks back pretending to check the time on the clock and I finally get up from my seat and leave to get dressed.

          I really didn’t have any super important plans until much later. I throw on a lazy outfit for the day, brush my teeth for a minute longer than most, and go downstairs with Sebastian already at the door with jangling metallic keys in hand.

          “That was quick Ciel.”

          He opens the door and gestures for me to go first. He was dressed like a teenager with a cable knit jumper and jeans, taken aback I stared at him blankly for a few moments before passing him by with a hidden smile plastered across my lips, that of course, he took notice of. He smiled too. And this is how we communicate.

* * *

          Through the mist of this fall morning the scarlet leaves are little more than a red haze. I cannot tell if the sky is blanketed with the grey clouds of yesterday, but regardless my is umbrella tucked firmly under arm, squeezed against my grey jumper. We were only walking to the driveway and back again through a parking lot today. Still though I might as well be prepared if my 16 year old looking step dad isn’t.

          I slide into the car and shut the door carefully, careful not to make a sound.

          And then it finally hits me that I’ll be considered a patient once again.

          The dread creeps over me like an icy chill, numbing my brain. In this frozen state, my mind offers me only one thought. It is today. There is no avoiding it. I'm like a cow being herded into a truck for the slaughterhouse, only the cow doesn't know where it's going and I do. I averted my eyes as much as I could to the window on my right peering out as Sebastian pulled out of the driveway.

_Put yourself together, why are you getting so worked up about this now?_

          My head races and searches for a form of stability and I eventually hear the stereo of the car come on, no not the stereo. It’s the man sitting to my left humming a tune that fills the car with complete distraction for myself at least. I’ve never been so relieved with gentle tones that fill my ears. It’s usually just McMillan singing, and he’d be lucky if he hit half a note in a song. This was different though, thankfully. The Cadillac cruised down the freeway, traveling south. A car that often sneers at speed limits. Yet still, never once receiving a speeding fine. Didn’t I already mention everyone thinks he’s a living walking god? He’s far from it.

          When we entered the highway, I had noticed that the roads had been built in the days of wealth and grandeur. They were wide enough for several lanes of cars in each direction. They’re flat and glossy black, then with neat lines of white and yellow like in the old movies. I liked it a lot, the four lanes that often advanced to five every couple exits looked freeing. Of course aside from the graffiti spread across the dividers on the roads. Usually, it was number plus number, an unsolved equation like 1 + 150 then 1 + 200. A gang sign no doubt, but is the middle of the highway any place to make a profit from illegal goods? Or maybe it was a map to their drug quartel. Either way, it’s really not my fucking problem.

          Yeah, not my problem, but people around here aren’t very bright.

          We take an exit to downtown and our destination could have been spotted right from the highway. We made it there with 10 minutes to spare.

* * *

          We take the elevator to the 17th floor where all evil awaits. I opened the tall and heavy door to the room where we’d be sitting for 10 minutes. Or more, you know how these offices are like. A brief welcoming smile from the receptionist wasn’t something common so before either I or Sebastian could register a smile we were already turned around.

          I took in my surroundings running my index finger along the seats until we finally found a place to seat ourselves. The waiting room was impressive but not elegant. Assorted chairs, some comfortable, some upright with padded seats and carved backs, prints of country landscapes, magazines neatly arranged on a large central cherry wood table. Other patients sit helplessly gazing into space, in their own private worlds. There was a play corner for children, but the chances of having kids here on the daily is highly unlikely, no wonder all the toys are perfectly arranged against the only wall that wasn’t white in the room. A soothing voice sang from the 5 speakers sprawled across the ceiling. Sebastian sat in his chair slightly slouched with both elbows taking up his armrest and my own. He watched the patients walk in one by one and so did I. People walk to the front desk so differently. Some almost skip, so exquisitely full joy, others walk as if they are boarding a badly kept bus, no more exciting than any other commute. Then there are the nervous ones, quick steps, and stern faces, everything about them tight and fearful.

          My rare feeling of anxiety started to fade away into the completely white wall in front of me. Sebastian talked to me about the party last night depicting every minor detail as I flipped through a magazine full of nothing but adverts for drugstore mascara and lotions, along with women who were photographed mid hair flip selling pricey shampoos.

          Each nurse dressed head to toe in unnecessary scrubs (this wasn’t exactly a hospital) that walked in and out shot Sebastian and I **_that look_ ** once again. But each time I thought that I was going to be called, I was always mistaken. Finally, just as I predicted we sat there for over ten minutes and when I was called a nurse led me to a door. Before I turned the corner I heard a faint _I love you_ in the distance.

* * *

         I paused at the doorway of my new therapist’s office, letting my eyes roam the room before anyone noticed I was about to walk in. I'd have to go in, I know I will, but at least this way my mind had a few moments longer to prepare. I reach for the handle and she’s already standing there with her... I suppose you could describe her hairstyle as retro, it was clearly natural blonde and fashioned into a half up half down do. Her long bangs at the front were swept to the side and held there with hairspray. If it was windy she would cover her hair with a headscarf to protect it. I’m sure of it. Her eyes were the color of a newly bloomed Bluebell from the valley, enchanting, and delicate. They reminded me of how my mother’s eyes used to look, for a second I was startled then walked into the room without a word.

          “Ciel Michaelis? Is it?”

          “Ciel Phantomhive.” I corrected her, almost surprised that I spoke.

          “Oh, I’m sorry. My name is Irene Diaz. Dr. Diaz if you will, and before we start anything here I just want you to know whatever is said here stays here.”

          Right, that’s what they all say. It’s so rehearsed that it hurts to hear those words, her voice was soft and all, but I couldn’t stand it. My eyes draw themselves to the window to stare at the cityscape towering from every height. The clouds looked so close as if I could run my hand through the grayness.

          “Dear, could we start. Today maybe? Listen, I’ve read up on your report and your history with other psychologists and…”

          She trails off, sensing my judgemental vision burning holes through her. The woman that walked around the room could have graced any billboard or magazine cover because she was no better than those two-dimensional photoshopped models. Something seemed so off with her I couldn’t rid the thought from my head. Even if I were to speak with her, how was I supposed to if I keep imagining her as the villain in a fictional story?

          I take my hands off my knees to keep me from tapping my feet and cross both my arms on the left armrest of the chair. The navy suede laid comfortably underneath me, but I couldn’t help that at the same time it felt as if the chair was about to swallow me whole. It could without doubt seat 3 more Ciel Phantomhives.

          “Where are my manners? Could I get you anything? Water, tea, coffee? Other than that I should probably let you get to know me better before you feel pestered with questions.”

          This should be interesting.

          “Let’s see…” Dr. Diaz takes a sip from the mug in her right hand and continues. “As you know, my name is Irene, although I’m usually referred to as Rina in personal situations. The nickname stuck around with me since I was a little girl, trust me I’ve already tried to get people to just call me Irene. I don’t have any children although I was married for a few years, then we got divorced. I grew up in Bristol with my parents as an only child…”

          Then I get the basic questions to test my mental functioning. Tell me about your childhood, what was your last vacation like? How is your sleep? Is anything worrying you? _Easy, there Diaz, easy._

          She wouldn’t stop talking until our session was over which was good enough for me, I didn’t wanna say anything anyway.

          We stood up and then my new therapist and I walked out of her office side by side together back into the crowded waiting room, the first thing I spot was Sebastian of course. He stood up quickly and ran his hand through his hair, not sure what he was stressed about though. Dr. Diaz starts walking at a much quicker pace than earlier to greet him. I put my hands in the pockets of my trousers and take big slow steps towards their conversation. His body is resting against the wall to his right with a face of utter nonchalance. He's almost smiling - smiling as if something good were about to happen. The world falls through my feet. Good for him is likely bad for me. Very bad. He’s talking to my new therapist, and he’s smiling. How could that be any good?

          She gestures me over from where I’m standing near a tank full of fish. I pretend I don’t see her, but make sure to get to where she’s standing anyway.

          “It went well I guess?” He remarked sarcastically to Irene.

          “It was fine.” I spoke before she could

          “You heard the kid, it didn’t take much for him to speak up.” Irene praised herself.

          “So what did it take?” He directed his question towards me with a great big and eager smile that tugs at the corners of his lips.

          I shoot him an irritated look and drag him by the arm out of the waiting room. He doesn’t stumble in the slightest, instead, he ruffles my hair and thanks her for all her hard work, _blah blah blah._ She didn’t really do anything, she just aggravated me to the point of speech.

          He throws a wink back at Dr. Diaz and I roll my eyes to hide my sudden rush of slight jealousy.

          I walk in front of him and he takes a few large steps to catch up with me, he stops me by gently tapping my shoulder and I whip my head around to face him once again. He rolls up the sleeves on his sweater to just underneath his elbows and cocks his head to the side with a smirk on his face. I could have walked away had it not been for the smirk. That little rise in the corner of his mouth he was oblivious to combined with the cool detachment in his eyes that looked burgundy as a result of the lights in the hallway sealed his fate. He crouches down on one knee to meet me at eye level, how insulting.

          “So, did you talk because she was pretty?” He mocks me with a pouty look on his face.

          The number of eye rolls I’ve done today is causing my eyes themselves to ache. This time it wouldn’t make them hurt any less, and with that, I left leaving him chuckling and trailing behind me.

* * *

          “So, uh, something came up at work. I really hope you don’t mind, because I think I already mind for the two of us. Anyways, I don’t think I’ll be there for dinner. Forgive me kiddo?”

          I nod my head turned away from him at the doorstep, slightly happy that my evening plans are well, going just as planned. We’ve already arrived home and our jackets rested against the stairs’ white railing. The umbrella is packed away in the closet, not a single drop of water fell this afternoon. He turns me around to face him and my eyes follow to meet his own.

          “You heard what I said when you left the waiting room, didn’t you?”

          When I do recall I pat him on the shoulder and he does the same to my hand, then runs out the door, locking the door after him. I kick off my shoes and for the first time in a while, I recall feeling something more than numbness today, was it amusement? Or was it something else? It didn’t matter though because the doorbell snapped me out of my stupor, I jumped like the button was hardwired to my brain and strode off to the door. The flowers had arrived by the postman a wiry man in a great hurry. He thrusts them into my arms with an unconvincing farewell and runs off back to his truck. The bouquet was none of my favorites, I must say. Mini-sunflowers, white daisies, and purple asters. It wasn't my birthday or my Sebastian’s and I doubt he had a lover, maybe it was just a secret admirer of his. I closed the front door and searched for a label, a card, anything to help find the sender. Then I found a card buried so deep into the flowers I probably crushed one or two daisies trying to find it.

_“Call me sometime?”_

          It was one of his co-workers, Mey-something. Mey-Rin I think. Anyway, I didn’t mind so I put the card back where I found it. I walked them to the kitchen and took out a vase from one of the cupboards. I then ran cold water from the faucet and arranged the flowers in the vase, then placing them on the dining room table. The sweet, almost sickly, smell of flowers cut through the freshness of the air intoxicated it. It gave a form of life, It was actually quite nice. Satisfied with my designing skills I go upstairs and get ready for tonight.

          I don’t really feel like being a stunner or anything like that tonight, so I throw together whatever’s on my floor into a decent outfit I guess. This flannel thing with a black vest top underneath, black jeans intentional rips all over and some docs.

          I leave my room once again for the back door in my house, my first time doing this I felt like there was a prodigious courage pushing inside me, demanding me to be brave and strong. I never had this kind of bravery before, yeah, I felt proud of myself then. It’s not as thrilling any more, I think it’s only because I became dependant on deceiving and concealing things. Whatever, same routine as usual, open the iron gate, close it but careful not to lock it, same thing with the door in the house itself, meet McMillan who’s standing not far from my house, what’s new? We wait at the bus stop, the bus arrives and we leave. Simple.

          The few people sitting on the bus swamp the place with muddied silence. The seats and windows shake with every small bump in the ragged pavement, jostling the passengers back and forth. The air conditioning pumps through only a few filters, whistling with the extreme pressure. It smells slightly of diluted gas. I don’t mind, my favorite smell is of petrol. McMillan shifts a McMillion times in his seat pushing me into the dirtied window of the shaky automobile, and of course asking me all the questions in the world like tomorrow won’t come. And if that wasn’t enough, he ridiculed me with queries about where we’re going. And the truth is, I haven’t got the slightest clue. It was posted about on someone’s profile on some site, an open invite if you will, I’ve never heard of the place before. I suppose it’s some warehouse since we’re travelling to the industrial area on the outskirts of London. Either way, should be interesting.

          When we do arrive, I realize almost instantly that the party is actually rather dull, yeah there are loads of people but it’s still lonely. The music was as loud as thunder though; it made the everything rattle. Neon lights flashed everywhere like police sirens, but much more colourful. Unless those actually were police sirens. I’ve already lost McMillan somewhere in the crowd, and I still haven’t lost myself just as I was hoping. It’s not the same right now, and I don’t know why. I’m just about ready to go home until I see someone who’s surely been stalking me for the past 15 minutes that I’ve been here.

          “Ciel isn’t it? I’ve heard loads about you, not all of it good.”

* * *

          He gently took hold of my wrist and led me to a room with several plastic tables and matching chairs. It was lit dimly with an essence of nightfall. I pulled his wrist away and instead tugged at his shirt like a child pleading for attention. He turns around flustered and I throw him a grin as I seat myself on one of the chairs.

          “The name is Lau if you’re wondering, I heard you’re not the talking type, seems true.”

          I cross my ankles over each other as he lights a cigarette the old fashioned way with a match instead of a lighter. And not responding to his question answers it perfectly.

          “Not gonna ask who I am? I guess I’ll just have to tell you. I have a small _goods and trades_ business, particularly at these kind of cheap London parties. Like I said, I’ve heard things about you, I was hoping you’d like to give a product of ours a try.”

 _Clearly he was speaking of drugs, does he think just because I don’t talk I’m a complete fool. Give me the damn goods and trades, I need something to take my mind off of…_ I think to myself while he speaks his nonsense, tapping my fingers on the table. He slips white tablets under my fingers before they hit the table once more and passes me a tall glass of water. I eye him feeling insulted once again, to think I couldn’t do it without the help of water, insulting. I take them in three doses, two at a time for the six pills that lie on the table. My eyesight started to blur, but not because tears were welling up as a result of Sebastian's constant farewells. Everything became fuzzy; then I saw nothing at all. My consciousness was floating through an empty space filled with a thick static. Throughout the inky space my heartbeats pounded loudly, echoing in my ears, alongside fading pleas for help.

          Feeling in my body drained away until finally all was black.


	5. Sebastian

           Slowly and reluctantly, I uncover my face, blink, close my eyes, and blink again. Not a single streak of sunlight penetrates the window this morning. I sit up, drag my feet off the bed, and rub my knuckles onto my eyes. Then I proceed to stretch my arms above my head and yawn. I tried to keep my eyes open, I really did. But it was so hard, and the soft mattress underneath me was so comfortable.

          I only ever really shot out of bed when my phone began to buzz with endless messages.

          You know what, you can go as far as saying that the buzzing could have caused an earthquake. They were texts from a certain someone’s father, automated of course. Notifying me that his transactions are complete. I shut it off right away and huffed with more force than I could imagine, I didn’t wanna hear his attempts at making up for his lack of presence. Barefoot with just my night clothes, I tiptoed down the stairs and snuck off to the veranda that stretched the entire frontage of the house. In the fall I can sit here and watch the endless rain pour for hours. It would fall softly as if it knew of the hardships both behind and ahead. And each droplet would alight the earth’s skin. Not today though, the gray sky showed no other sign of it.

           Of course, I don’t usually come out here in the morning, not even on the pleasurable weekends. I had to settle an arrangement of sorts with Ciel’s new therapist. Truth is, I met with her before entering the venue for Claude’s party yesterday evening. It was for a date, not a romantic one though and on the other hand, it was Ciel’s date not my own. It was my final attempt with a psychologist for him and Irene Diaz was such a lovely lady in the half an hour I spoke with her. I’m not the social butterfly type myself, and I’m sure that she could make anyone light up with joy (even if joy is a relative term).

           I shied away as far as possible from Ciel’s bedroom window to dial Irene’s office. I slipped onto a bench that’s rather imposing, more of a throne than a casual seat for a garden. The high ornate arms rose on each side and the back was tall with carvings. I rested an elbow atop one of the arms and scrolled past my coworkers' phone numbers to find hers. I pressed the screen against my ear to hear the usual buzzing sound. Soon a receptionist picked up and asked me what she could do for me.

           I shifted awkwardly in my chair before I spoke.

           “Um, Hello. I was wondering if I could make an appointment for today at 11 am - it’s for my son.”

           I heard typing on the other line for a few seconds before the receptionist responded.

           “Appointment with who, may I ask?”

           “Dr. Diaz.”

           She hummed to herself, as she probably scrolled through her computer looking for openings. I sat quite frustrated, this phone call needs to be over with as soon as possible.

           “I’m afr-.” Her voice cut off very bluntly as soon as someone started whispering on the other line. I tried listening more intently as they spoke, but I couldn’t make out a single word.

           “Actually it just opened up, your name sir?”

           “Sebastian Michaelis, it’s for my son though like I already mentioned.”

           “Okay, 11 am we’ll see you then.”

           I shut my phone off and ran back inside the house to make breakfast. After wasting time with an excuse for a receptionist my time was now limited. Our kitchen is very well equipped. Utensils on hooks, granite counters, stainless steel appliances, spotless, scrubbed and what not. I peered into the fridge and thought about what I could make in ten minutes or less. A carton of eggs stood at the far corner and I chose to make them scrambled for him. I myself would rather hold off until lunch. Instead, I made myself the usual coffee as I finished off the eggs which thankfully took only minutes to make as Ciel came downstairs in his pajamas. Slightly startled I half yell half greet him which then makes him jump back a bit.

           He sits down at the table and I follow, our eyes then lock over the breakfast table the soft expressions of years and years ago have evaporated. Ciel holds my gaze, but instead of the warmth of a child, it is with an icy hostility. And this was all before I told him about his therapist session today.

           “Take it with excitement or don’t, you have another appointment today.”

           Just as he was about to take a bite, he pushes the breakfast away. With butterflies in his stomach and his head buzzing with possibilities, there was no way on Earth he'd swallow a bite, let alone a whole plateful. Instead, I send him off upstairs to get dressed but he continues to sit at the table for a few moments more as I stand up to distract myself by washing dishes in the sink that are already clean. I feel as if I’ve strained our relationship even more now, I looked back at him and he flashes his eyes to me, staring. I quickly cover it up by checking the clock on the wall behind him. But, staring isn't quite the word for what Ciel does, though he'd fit the dictionary definition to a tee. His eyes rest, not unblinking but slowed; yet the effect is soft and inviting instead of harsh. Perhaps it is his lips that give away his intention, not quite smiling but tilting as if they mean to.

           He then walks himself up the stairs and gets dressed in minutes time, I greet him warmly and open the door in his presence he thanks me with a smile and I do the same back.

           The ride there isn’t very long, but long enough to bore me probably the wee one in the passenger seat as well. He looks uneasy, His brain looked like it had shut down. He was clammy and there was the glisten of a cold sweat. His eyes were as wide as if someone was coming to deliver the fatal blow. His uneasiness made me feel the same, it couldn’t have just been because of the appointment today, he looked completely fine at the breakfast table.

           I start sub consciously humming gentle tunes to myself as a distraction and it seems to work for Ciel too, at least for a split second when I looked back at him. His breathing wasn’t as harsh and uneven anymore, which eased my nerves.

           I pulled up near the building and told Ciel to wait inside so that I can find a spot to park the car. I figured somewhere close by would be ideal, I didn’t want to run through the possible rain this afternoon. And to spot my car in the pouring rain would be disastrous. This establishment is one of the busiest London, which explains the whole parking garage just for the one building. I drove around the corners and tall concrete pillars to find not a single space on the first floor. He’s gonna be waiting a little longer than I had anticipated. I steer the car to the second floor and find a free spot, just as I park I realize I’m either overly paranoid or should be genuinely worried when I thought someone had snuck a photo of something in my direction. I exited the car quickly trying not to make myself a story on the evening news. I ran off quickly to the door that led to the stairs. The place was anything but new, even the stairs looked they were about to crumble with a mere drop of a feather, so I ran down that too.

* * *

           Ciel’s quiet demeanor was the loudest presence in the room when I came in through the front doors. He sat right by the window watching the whole world go past him through the thick glass. It was quite the sight to see him with his knees pulled up to his chest in the chair that was much larger than he was, completely unaware of me standing behind him. I walk over to him with my hands in my trouser pockets and tap him on his shoulder. Without even looking to see if it were me he walked right past me to the elevators. He glided like a waiter in a five-star restaurant and his footfalls made no sound at all. Well, that might attribute to the fact that his arms were like slits and has legs like rubber bands. A thin finger reached for the elevator button and it was us two, as well as many other entering the elevator space, felt as tight as ever. It soon came to a halt, and when we arrived at our floor I led Ciel to Irene’s designated waiting room where we’d have to make ourselves comfortable for a little while. He opened the tall door with whatever strength he could muster and in front of our eyes was probably the most decent room in all the building. The room is uncomfortably large. It reminds me my house in a way, not just in the space but in the artwork too. I scan for a personal touch, something that doesn't suggest a hired designer chose it. Nothing. The walls white and the furniture I'm sure is from a high-end designer, but the name escapes me for the moment. There is room in here for dozens of children, though I doubt even one would be welcome. It is a perfect place, but cold in its tranquility. The soft jazz just audible as background noise, somehow makes it even less personal.

           Before I have a chance to sit down in one of the chairs, I check in Ciel at the front desk. I was cut off rather quickly as if she knew who we were. I nodded my head sort of awkwardly and slightly suspicious. I think she was well aware of that.

           After an endless session of pacing the navy-blue carpeted floor, I managed to sit myself down on one of the overly-fancy gray waiting chairs pedantically aligned along the bare white walls of the room. Ciel was already sitting at one of the chairs pretending to flip through a magazine full of dead weight. What he was really doing was staring at everyone else in the room. And when that was over is when he was called for his session. His gestures were as empty as his words. Even without a quick hug and or a smattering of consoling words he would be off without a backwards glance. He hated displays of emotion and complicated relationships. So I take the chance to call out _I love you._ But he’s already turned the corner.

           Soon a woman’s tousled blonde curls frolicked as she marched into the waiting room. The girl stood with a hip jutted to one side, her right arm draped across her slender body, clasping the elbow opposite. Her head lolled down to one shoulder casting her hair onto her faded t-shirt that was two sizes too big. It hung so low that her shorts only just peeked below the dirty hem, a fringe of denim cut-offs. The only reason I can describe this woman vividly was because she stood so close in front of me, I could smell the stench of her cheap perfume.

           “What kinda crazy are you?” She announced more than she asked as she smacked bubble gum around in her mouth.

           I glanced at her, looking her straight in the eyes before telling her I was waiting for my son. Then she huffed and pressed her back up against the back of her chair. Then she whipped her head around to face me once again.

           “You look way too young to have a son, how old are you anyway?”

           “Do you ask everyone you meet that? It’s fine to be insecure about your age, try not to stress.” My snarky remark shut her right up and even made her stand up and walk away from me slightly irritated.

           I roll my eyes and continue to bang my head against the wall behind me.

           I stared at the black-framed wall clock for the ninth time this hour, scrutinizing the second hand, which seemed to linger an extra minute at every passing second. I took my gaze off of the clock, silently vowing to not look at it once more until absolutely necessary. Boredom kills. There I am tapping my foot repetitively with my shoe, staring out of the window, wishing I was anywhere but here. But that’s selfish. Ciel needs to be here and that’s more important than my lack of entertainment.

           I spent the rest of my time in the waiting room checking emails and of course responding to them. Mostly co workers trying to kiss my ass. For what reason in particular? Not sure, I think I’m a great boss. I get it, people have families and can’t afford to take a day off, so I gave a month’s worth of vacation you can spread out throughout the year to watch your kid’s damn school play, twice if you’d like. What else more could you want, the pay is already sky high and whatever else they want I simply can’t provide. In the midst of my complaining thoughts, Ciel walks out with his new psychologist.

           I stood up as the pair turned the corner and Ciel catches my eye right away since I haven’t trudged since he left. Irene quickens her pace towards me and Ciel stops walking and leans against the fish tank set up inside the wall itself.

           “Hey, Sebastian! Got any sleep at all after last night, I heard you had quite the night.”

           “More than enough actually, listen, how did his session go?”

           “Ask the kid yourself, he’s on his way isn’t he?”

           “Oh, so you got him to utter a couple words!”

           She laughed and then continued “Only when he corrected me for saying his name wrong.”

           Irene then gestures Ciel over who makes his way slower to us than the clock I had been staring at on and off for the past hour.

           “It went well I guess?” He remarked sarcastically to Irene.

           “It was fine.” He responded quickly.

           Suddenly my whole world came to a halt, even if it was only three words it was so warming to hear his gentle voice again. I was willing to ask him more but I didn’t wanna risk pushing my luck too far.

           “You heard the kid, it didn’t take much for him to speak up.” Irene was clearly praising herself, and rightfully so.

           “So what did it take?” I asked Ciel indirectly, with a slight inclination on why he started speaking once again.

           I might have angered him because he’s attempted to drag me out of the place by the arm. I place my hand on his head to calm him down to avoid causing a scene in the middle of a packed waiting room. He gives in and lets go of my arm probably assessing his situation and keeps his composure. For all of her help, I would have thanked her a million times. I do wish that Ciel would do the same but somehow I think that it would be too much to ask. His face proves himself to be beyond tired. His head lolls and the muscles of his face relax, releasing the tension of his day. I have no doubt that the tug of my arm was the last of his energy he’d spared. I wink back at Irene before finally leading Ciel out of the clinic, and someone surely disapproves. With that, Ciel speeds up in front of me ready to scold me if he only got the chance.

           In attempts to lighten is sunken mood, I hit him with a joke that ended up being more a hassle than it was worth.

           “So, did you talk because she was pretty.”

           Yeah, I shouldn’t have gone there.

* * *

           The lies that I fear most are the ones close enough to the truth to pass under the radar, which is just what I had put upon my very own step son.

           “So, uh, something came up at work. I really hope you don’t mind, because I think I already mind for the two of us. Anyways, I don’t think I’ll be there for dinner. Forgive me kiddo?” The lie slipped out from my mouth, smooth and easy like melted butter running down toast.

           He stops in his tracks after putting his coat on the stair railing, the truth is I could tell he was slightly let down. I have no idea why he lets me do this time and time again, especially since what I just told him was anything but the truth. But he turned back around with a face of understanding and forgiveness I hated to leave it behind so soon.

           “You heard what I said when you left the waiting room, didn’t you?”

           His face drops into an innocent gaze with a small smile curling on his lips. He placed a dainty hand on my shoulder, I'd melt into him like ice-cream on a warm porcelain bowl. And each time before we parted the aching to see him would begin anew. My thoughts drained the color from my face, even if they weren’t necessarily wrong, I still dashed out the door as fast as I could leaving standing alone in the house.            

* * *

           The city changes every few minutes on the journey away from home; the downtown flicking between affluence and poverty. There are streets of upmarket stores, smooth black and glass exteriors, fancy names in fancier lettering. The kind of places with perfumed atmospheres made all the more inviting by soft jazz music and well groomed staff that ran around like dogs to fulfill every customer’s desire. This is mostly where I do my shopping because most every other place in this city doesn’t have too much of the welcoming atmosphere. The supermarket was wedged between an upscale coffee shop to the left and a vintage market to its right. I shouldn’t say wedged even if it may look like it from afar when I stepped inside I quickly took a shopping cart and began.

           I spend more time reading the labels than walking - isn't that modern shopping for you? It's that or buying only single ingredients - rice, wheat, beans, tomatoes, eggs...And that’s usually what I always try and stick with. Ingredients lists are worse than those instructions for experiments in science class, every word as long and complicated as possible. Likely the finest thing about any of these things is the packaging - pretty in its garish way - and that just adds to landfill on the earth.

           Once I had finished, I strolled the car up to the counter where a cashier stood with a face is made up with subtle makeup except her lips that are cherry red. She was definitely old, very old, but unlike everyone else around here had a kinder look than most. She scanned my groceries quickly and I left to shove the bags in my car trunk.

           And no, I didn’t lie to Ciel about where I was going to go shop for groceries.

           I needed to speak with his father at once, but in the meanwhile, I figured I’d run some errands too.

           I threw open my car door and shut it with equal force. Trying to rid myself of any anger before giving the one and only Vincent a call. I stretched a bit trying to release all my tension and pulled out my phone faster than I could change my mind.

_You’ve already come this far, just bloody fucking do it already._

           “Vincent, it’s Sebastian.” My voice cracked making me appear a lot less tough to the man on the other line.

           “It’s nice to finally fucking hear from someone back where you’re at!” His voice broke any peace I had mustered up throughout the day.

           “I could say the same about you, and what’s with all those cheques you signed off. I got the message this morning, I don’t need your money or you. Leave it be.”

           “How’s Ciel?” Vincent asks without much regard to what I said.

           “Great, better than ever if you ask me.”

           “Okay, I’m busy I gotta go.”

           He hangs up quicker than I left Ciel less than two hours ago and all the courage I worked up dissolved into itself and the phone call was without a doubt so useless that I could easily say it never happened. I hit my head against the driver’s seat until I get more ringing sounding from the phone. With a few shocking words from the other line, I realize that...

           I'm not allowed to be afraid. I'm not allowed to show the tenseness that grows in my head and heart. I am to be "warrior" and "protector," preferably wrapped up with "comedian" to ease the others. There is a height at which manhood is expected regardless of age and I simply reached it faster than my peers. What am I supposed to do now, when one phone call can completely kill you.

           My heart drops immediately because I think I have just been faced with my worst nightmare. And what hurts the most now is that I think I was right last night.  

           I kicked the engine into gear right away.            

* * *

           I didn’t move, I didn't even dare to breathe, I'm frozen on the spot. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. Deep heavy breaths sound in my ears. The hairs on my arms stand to attention, as a militia of chills march down my spine. The beating gets louder and the sound is intolerable. All I have to do is keep calm until I make it there. The closer I get to my destination I realize the person on the phone might not be who they say they are. The trucks start piling more and more on to the highway and I doubt any hospital would find itself located in the direction I’m going.

           I peek at the speed I’m going and realize I could die myself with the vehicle going this quickly. With that, I slow down and spot the “hospital”. The sun has already set and even the clouds from day time ventured into the night. The cloud fails to blanket the sky, instead, it is sporadic, chaotic in where it chooses to be thick or sparse. In the gaps the sky has darkened; the clouds are no longer white or paler gray, instead, they are blackened shadows that shift with the wind.

           Chaotic.

           I steer the car to the side of the road bordering the building along with many other vehicles that stood, not very bothered if I did in fact park correctly. I slam my door shut, and now I’m surprised the windows haven’t shattered with how many times I’ve done that today. A pair of kids exit the building which looks like it has a red shadow coming from within. I ran to the door and made it through before the heavy metal door could shut.

           The place was vibrant, but not vibrant enough to distract me from my priority. All I have to do is walk in, get Ciel, go home, and then have a drink. Something tells me it’ll be a tad more complicated than that. I walked past several groups of teenagers and I’m pretty sure I don’t stand out the least bit besides the fact that I’m not tripping on acid. The place only has one room, but instead, it has pillars and curtains to section off areas. I pushed the curtains aside and looked through the entire place until I found another door that was unlocked. As soon as I did though, a mountain of cheap smoke washed over me.

           There he was, no it wasn’t Ciel who I saw. But someone else who locked eye contact with me straight away surely fighting a smile. At first, I thought this could’ve entirely been the wrong place. But I’m 90% sure I know who this man is and he 110% knows who I am. He stood up from the table he was seated at with several other men and the mischief in his eyes grew more prominent the closer he got to me. I couldn’t waste any more time with this so I calmly asked him what I needed to know.

           “So, you gonna tell me who you are anytime soon or do I have to guess myself.”

           “Someone who gave the kid over there a good time tonight.”

           “He’s my son you sick fuck, where is he anyway?”

           “Relax, he’s over there on the floor with all his clothes on if that’s what you’re worried about. Not my line of work either.” He lit another clearly rolled cigarette and carried on with his speech.

           “What’s it to you anyway, you’re what? 26? With a step son, isn’t he just getting in the way? I figured I’d take a load off.”

           “How do you even know that?”

           “I’m an educated man, it pays off really in the whole underground world. Try it out sometime I’m sure you are as well, not that you’d be welcomed by the man himself. He doesn’t like you very much.”

           “You’ve been stalking me?”

           “Nope, just think of me as the postman. I deliver whatever he’s got on his mind.”

           “I’m taking my son now.”

           “He’s not yours, Michaelis. Never was.” The man says as he directs me towards where Ciel was lying. Pale as a winter’s day on the polished concrete floor.

           “I’m Lau, by the way.”

           I nod my head and slowly exit the room, once the door shuts. I bolt for Ciel’s life more than my own.

* * *

           “I think my son’s overdosed, could we have priority?” I asked the lady who stood behind the front desk typing away at her computer yet still very alert and awake.

           “How old is your son sir?” She asked with a slight furrow in her brows. Of course, it didn’t phase her very much, I’m sure she hears cases about overdoses every other hour.

           “Fourteen.” I responded with more alarm in my voice than earlier.

           Those same furrowed eyebrows rose quickly and told me to wait one minute and that a room would be vacant in around a minute for our use. I didn’t think she’d be surprised at hearing that a 14-year old overdosed, I thought it was quite common particularly in that age group. Soon a male nurse pulled up with a white stretcher and I helped him lift Ciel up and onto it. The stretcher rolled swiftly down the hallway that has as much personality as the rest of the hospital. The floor is slate gray and the walls dove. Above the ceiling is made from those polystyrene squares laid on a grid-like frame. The light is too bright for my eyes after the darkening gloom outside, I find it abrasive, enough perhaps to bring on a headache. Or maybe that was just the stress. The hospital corridor itself is stuffy and the air has an undertone of bleach. Same with the rooms as well, we finally reach the door, brown and dull like all the others.

           "Well, here we are," the nurse smiles kindly and opens the door wider.

           A doctor, as well as two other nurses, surrounded his hospital bed, attaching IV's, heart monitors and oxygen tanks to him. An old TV set hangs from the ceiling. A window giving me a view of the midnight sky above stood tall on the wall to my left. In the corner are two chairs, frayed with wear and tear. It was a typical hospital room, sparse and functional. Hopefully though.

           I stood and watched the doctor pump out whatever drugs they could out of his already frail body. No wonder, they were done so quickly the dose must’ve not even been that much. The whole process made me sick to my stomach but I forced myself to watch him, in case he woke up suddenly.

           Even after a couple of hours have gone by in this room I’m still rubbing my eyes with the insides of my palms, even slapping myself every 10 minutes to stay awake. After all this time I pull up a chair next to Ciel’s bed and try talking to him, as he’s still in his coma.

           “You took the game too far, and you’re not quite as clever as you thought either. I had the slightest inclination this was going on, maybe I knew because I was just like you when I was a kid, even if it wasn’t all that long ago. I really trusted you, I thought you’d be fine so I didn’t say anything. But now…”

           “You’re a lucky man, Mr. Michaelis.” The doctor from earlier bursts into the room. “These kids sure are indestructible creatures.”

           “Sorry, what did he take again?” I say slightly distracted.

           “We’re not sure, whatever it was, it was completely clean. He would’ve been completely fine either way.” He coughs into his arm and continues. “He should be awake in the morning, you can take him home if you’d like.”

           And that’s exactly what I did.


	6. Ciel

             I’m walking unusually slowly today, almost robotically, my brain feels as if it’s struggling to tell each foot to take the next step. Sort of like a stupor; I’m acting like someone under hypnosis in one of those scooby-doo cartoons. But I guess you could blame school and it’s wack environment for my behavior. During our afternoon break, I decided to loosen up with a book in the same spot just as I always do, same bench, different book. What else have I done today? A couple assessments, caught two year 9’s making out in the washroom, and an absurd physical education class. The classes themselves were repetitive, and the crisp leaves outside fell to the autumn ground.

             And another thing, the empty streets. And I mean really empty, my natural curiosity led me to explore the place beyond the school’s gates and store my classes further down on the priority list. I know that the street winds over the hill gray and cracked with age. On each side of the road straight ahead, the houses are separated by yards large enough to accommodate farm animals, but this is no rural district. The homes are many times larger than even the biggest of families might need, yet in each is mostly parents with one child. Or two, the second was an accident though (you know what, the first one was probably an accident as well). But I can’t stand up to see it, I’m frozen in place and all I can do is blink. It’s like sleep paralysis, but being completely awake. Plus no one’s towering over you with sharp objects in hand ready to attack you. All you can do is lay there and wait until you’re dead or you wake up. You could say that’s my situation at the moment.

             Then it passes by, and I can move again. I jolt up from the bench and stumble until I’m aware of my movements again. My feet carry themselves mindlessly around the school’s yard until coming upon a tree that stood tall and erect from the clean cut grass.

             The book in my hand is bound in red leather, cracked and dry with age, and smells faintly of tobacco and dust. Since I didn’t get the chance to read it on that cursed fucking bench, instead, I settled down with it under the tree.

             All I feel is tranquility throughout those first few chapters, reading this particular book was much like being slapped upside the head, shocking, attention grabbing, not entirely pleasant. I started to lose interest as well as concentration by the page. That’s only the half of it though, the words started getting more distorted by the page too. Not really sure what I was perceiving anymore, so I shut my eyes and leaned against the peeling silver bark behind me.

             Then, almost as if on cue, a flip in my attention in the form of a dead bird shot out of the sky dropped to my feet.

             Though my eyes are open I can't think of why; my heart is pounding, mind empty. It's as if a hypodermic of adrenaline has been emptied into my carotid. I strain into the utter darkness, breathing rate beginning to steady. My dream ended abruptly, as I was shaken back into reality. My eyes opened, my eyelashes faintly batting against my lids when I blinked. A thin layer of cold sweat coated my body from top to bottom.

             While I was debating whether or not to keep my sheets on or off as I went back to sleep I was quickly aware of the situation I’m currently in the middle of. There goes my willingness to doze off for a while longer. Like I said it’s still dark outside, the clock to my left glows brightly with red numbers that read “3:12 AM”.  

             The tall door at the other side of the room is left slightly unlatched, still, open enough for me to feel the tension from downstairs. The yells were like booming barks, and the arguing had a dull exhaustion to it. They'd been over the same bitterness too many times before. Sebastian had a sneer in his voice that extended to his eyes and Claude spat after every vent. If only it had been them, It should be. Then the screaming became violent in the cool air, I took some safety measures and pulled out the knife I had stored under my bed. Just in case it wasn’t Sebastian and the bumbling moron that he cares for to bits.

             Once I’ve reached the main floor I hear hysteric crying, and feel a cool breeze creep up my neck that makes the hairs on it stand. This is surely what happens in all the horror movies I dread.

             At this point, I’ve established that it’s the two men’s voices I thought it was. I sigh and trail my eyes back to the knife in my hand and quickly store it away in the kitchen drawer before either of them would notice. The sink quietly leaks water into the glass I retrieved from the cupboard. I sit down and make myself as small as possible in the corner closest to the entrance from where they’d come in. When they do I see my father’s face is tinted with a slight shade of crimson and wet cheeks. While Claude’s eyebrows are furrowed in concern. Their faces both drop into a solemn expression when they spot me, to break the awkwardness I stand up and hand my dad the glass of water. Before I send myself upstairs I slowly turn myself around to face them once again. I croak out a sorry and leave them in shock as I head upstairs.

* * *

             It’s not like either of them mentioned what happened last night. I know I look like a complete mess, and it’s a damn good reflection of how I feel too. Honestly, I’m not even sure what happened last night. Sure I said sorry, but for what, nothing could help me recall right now. The thought is just that, a fiction of the mind, so how is it that I can still carry a hangover of guilt? What on earth did I do to fuck everything up so terribly? How did I even get home last night?

             I stop walking when I reach the top of the stairs and start crawling to the bathroom. I’m covered in a new layer of sweat and I can feel myself turning a stronger shade of green by the second. The pain has an unpleasant warmth to it, eating at my stomach. There's nausea too, just enough to make me hold onto whatever object was standing in the hallway for support. I've often prided myself in ignoring pain and just rocking on regardless, but that just isn't possible right now.

             I managed to work up enough energy to slam the door shut, turn on the shower and release with one violent contraction the congealed contents of my stomach emerged. I didn’t really have a single morsel of food in my stomach, which didn’t help the dry heaving after the acid from my stomach was gone. I would’ve preferred the dry heaving over what came next, thick dark blood that smelt of sour milk and really old coins. I wiped my mouth, acidic residue and blood forming a shiny patch on my bare arm. I retreated to lay down on the freezing bathroom tiles. My head hitting it hard as I dropped down. Not really helping my headache, the pain throbs so violently around my skull that I wonder why it hasn’t just cracked open. At a time like this I wish it would, that way I wouldn’t have to deal with this burning, throbbing, and slicing pain.

             After around ten minutes of groaning on the floor, I pick myself up with the help of the sink’s marble counter. My hair is so horribly drenched in sweat it sticks to my forehead and the back of my swollen neck. I divest myself of my clothing and let it drop to the floor in a ring around me. I mustered up some enough energy from laying on the floor for me to take a quick shower to shock myself into a normal state if it even works like that.

             At least it shocked me into puking some more, although I’m not sure any loss of blood is good if it happens “some more”.

             I parted my lips slightly so that the cold water would trickle into my mouth and rinse the red liquids and acid out. I repeated this process a couple times until I was sure it was all gone. My hand falls to the lever and the water begins, so cold at first I almost cry out. Then the stream thickens, warms, steam rises to his aching face. I lather and rinse endlessly until my skin turns red and tender. My heart rate rises as I sway and nearly slip while stepping out of the shower. All I know now is, that whatever I took last night I’ll never take again.

             Oh right, that’s it.

             I necked a shit ton of pills last night and blacked out. How stupid of me.

             I pull two towels off the rack and wrap one plush, white towel around my hips. Using the other one to pat my hair until it wasn’t dripping water all over the floor. As I begin to come to my senses once again, my nose wrinkled at the stench of my vomit and sweaty clothes. I knew I’d have to clean this mess so I did so as quickly and as efficiently as I could. With the clothes in the hamper and all the vomit flushed down the toilet, I walk out of the bathroom. Faint noises of raging words continued emerging from downstairs as well as the front doors slamming shut. I roll my eyes and continue making my way to my bedroom, whatever happened will work itself out eventually if they don’t first.

             A few hours later I find Sebastian dozing off on the living room couch. I carefully rolled him onto his side and looked at him. His features were much softer in sleep, the lines that usually creased his brow replaced by the youthful appearance that matched those of kids my age. He’s not even that old, he’s 26 turning 27 in 5 months. My mum had me when she was my age and refused to have an abortion, Sebastian was two years younger than her. They met when she was 17 and he was 15 going on 16 soon enough.

             In sleep he was angelic, his face as fresh as a dew drop, making gentle snuffling noises as he breathed. It was kind of cute I guess.

             When he awoke he rubbed his tired eyes with the back of his hands. He sits up and, puts his hand to the side of his neck and stretches it from side to side then stretches his arms out towards the ceiling without a single crack. He slouched and sighed but didn’t utter a word to me for a minute, I sat next to him waiting for some sort of life lesson, or something worse, but sometimes I need to remind myself that he’s barely an adult himself so he might not really know what move he should make next most of the time.

             “So since you’re a drug fiend now, wanna go to the pharmacy? I need to pick up some aspirin.”

             Point proved, not sure what kind of parent would say that and only that. Taken slightly aback I raise an eyebrow and shake my head in response. He nods and gives me a light smile as picks his clothes up and off the floor. He turns away from me and lazily puts on his clothes to leave.

             When he does, I curl up on the couch and wrap my arms around my frail stomach that’s suffered enough pain already. Right now it feels like it’s gnawing and eating itself. Everything just feels so raw inside. I make my attempts at trying to sleep the pain away until it’s gone, but it’s much too difficult. I would grab a snack or something from the kitchen, but whatever I eat won’t come out the way it was meant to. I’d probably end up spending hours regurgitating an apple.

             I reach one arm out to snatch the remote off the glass table in front of me and switch on the plasma that sat against the wall. I didn't even know why I was watching it. I didn't laugh when I was supposed to, I didn't feel any tension during the drama, I barely followed the plot. The advertisements showed such well manicured and secure people, all of them happy and successful. Just how super did you have to be to sell toothpaste anyway? Now that’s funny.

             I don’t particularly like the news, but it’s one of the only programs on TV with limited adverts. It’s always same old same old, lots and loads of crime ranging from minor to major not very important to extremely concerning. Instead of toothpaste commercials, this channel has hotlines that pop up between news stories in relevance to the story itself. And this time it just so happened to be a drug abuse hotline number plastered across the large screen. I rolled my eyes and shut off the television.

             A simple glass of water wouldn’t hurt so I decided to get just that. As I finish filling the glass to the top the doorbell rings. The doorbell must have a new battery. The sound is harsher than the morning alarm wake-ups in a head-ache inducing kind of way. Well at least on top of the headache I’m already dealing with. I answer the door with my glass of water still in hand and see that it’s Claude. I step outside eager for fresh air and this seemed like a good opportunity to get some. I shut the door behind me slowly enough that it gives him enough time to ask whether or not he was allowed to come inside the house. I take his arm with my free hand and lead him out to a bench that’s protected from the sun’s rays under the veranda. We sit ourselves down and I place my glass on the table just beside the grand bench after I’ve taken a sip of it.

             I keep my eyes focused on the plants in front of me, on the verandah were plants that reached up past the railings and branched out gleefully into the sun, enjoying their extremely large home. And flowers of all sorts, jasmine flowers, roses, daisies, lilies you name it. I could’ve easily named all of them until Claude worked up the courage to finally speak.

             “I heard things got a little out of hand last night.”

             I’m positive that’s not exactly what he’s here for, he wants to apologize to Sebastian, but he’s not here. Instead, he decided to painfully speak about something he doesn’t really care about with the next best thing. I only nod my head once in response.

             “Are you feeling any better?”

             He asks me while trying to get a good look at my expression that’s currently being held on my features. Growing slightly uncomfortable I shift myself in place and don’t answer his question which answers it perfectly.

             “Why don’t you speak Ciel?

             I’m not sure who asks someone who doesn’t really talk a question like this expecting them to pour out their heart and soul into an answer. I turn around to face him this time because of that reason.

             “Don’t people ask you why? Doesn’t anyone care?”

             I’m not sure what to feel at this point, so I just look down to my feet. I’ve always been a really quiet kid, I don’t see why anyone would be concerned.

             “Your step dad and I got into an argument this morning, you may have heard shouting that’s what it was. It was kinda my fault I guess, I lashed out at him first. I told him that I didn’t know him at all even though he’s my greatest friend. I told him that ever since we were kids it’s always been the same, It started around your age actually he fucked with people so badly that so many people questioned their self-worth only because of him. He was a bully everyone wanted to be or be with. Even if he didn’t do anything to them, people talk loads. I told him off and told him that I couldn’t imagine anything worse than being him. And him being him, I regretted my words instantly. And… no matter what, not even this morning he was never the bad guy. He’s not even his college self anymore, and he hasn’t been since we got our A-Level results. But some qualities just stick, too bad that was the quality that makes me feel like a worthless piece of shit.”

             He took a breath and continued.

             “I thought last night would’ve been a turning point, you know? Your mum was already so destructive, seeking out guys like your actual dad and your step dad.”

             Didn’t I already mention he was an idiot? Why is he talking to me as if I don’t already know all this stuff? Not only that, he’s not making any sense. I really don’t have a clue on what he’s complaining about. If clearly changed and it’s your own personal self-esteem issues that you can’t handle, talk to him instead of screaming or venting to someone who surely won’t carry on the message.

             “I do know that no matter what though, he won’t hurt you. You’re his entire world, universe even. Pretty sure.”

             I furrow my brows and look at him again, he looks back and pats me on the shoulder.

             “I’m glad you’re feeling better Ciel.”

             He then tells me that he’ll be going back home and insists that I come with him for my dad’s sake. I don’t really mind so I don’t resist and just go along.

             Well, the truth is I have a feeling Sebastian went to go visit Hannah so he’ll be taking me home right away in any case.

* * *

             I stood behind Claude on the wooden framed porch, brilliantly white with new paint as he inserted a small metal key in the bright red door. But the door was just as far as it would go in terms of color. Everything else was white with golden accents all over. He jangled with the key for a few minutes until I walked up and helped him with it, a slightly flustered Claude slammed open the door. We make our way down the long hallway that’s lined with beautiful paintings, which again, lacked in any color. I haven’t been here in awhile so the new editions in the house was quite nice to look at.

             “I’ve been looking all over the place for you.”

             Claude announces to Sebastian where Hannah and him were sat on opposing arm chairs. Oh sorry, the armchairs were red as well. I cross my arms against my chest and the two sort of kind of adults sitting down look back at me, then take a look at Claude.  Hannah is slumped in her chair, her brows creased and face tense. Not in its natural relaxed state. She asks "What's up?" her tone casual and light. I didn’t really mind Hannah, she was really nice, and she doesn’t get involved in other people’s shit either.

             Claude scratches the top of his head and speaks up finally.

             “Yeah I uh, took some responsibility and took Ciel with me.”

             Sebastian scowls and stands up firmly from his seat. He puts his hands in his trouser pockets and surprisingly thanks, Claude.

             What for? Dunno.

             “Ciel and I are gonna get going now.”

             He announces and thanks Hannah for the tea he was drinking earlier.

             Thinking about it now I realize that whatever Claude told me earlier was completely useless, it’s not like he confronted Sebastian or anything. And what’s with all this “I’ve been looking all over the place for you.” He didn’t even utter a single word to him. Sebastian firmly took my shoulder and led me outside to his car.

             We sit like polar opposites in the two front seats of the vehicle. He’s slumped and slightly hunched over the steering wheel, I’m sitting perfectly against my seat. He must’ve noticed the difference and sat in the same way I did.

             “Ciel…” He emits slowly.

             My sigh softly deflated, it was as if a tension had lifted yet left me with a melancholy instead of relief. He leans in closer and tells me that I’m not the one who should be mad right now. My lips part slightly as I turn around to face him, I press my back up against the seat again and speak up.

             “Unbelievable.”

             “What?”

             “Bastard.”

             “Liked it better when you didn’t talk.”

* * *

             He sat awfully stiff at the steering wheel with a clenched jaw. Eyes not looking at anything but the road ahead, his usual relaxed demeanor is so rigid that I almost feel bad for all the stress I put him through last night. It hurts to look so I press my forehead up against the passenger window and watch the outside world rush by. The city was far in the distance now, the silhouette of the skyline pierced through the warm glow like a jagged mountain ridge. Millions of lights caused the dense mass of skyscrapers glitter. People were needle points and cars were blood cells flowing through the veins of the city. We’re now in a calmer part of town, just a few more roads until we reach our neighbourhood. So for now, the streets are lined with colorful townhouses and tiny shops that have already closed early for Sunday.

             Anyways, back here in the car, we sit knee deep in silence.

             And for the first time, I couldn’t stand it.

             When Sebastian finally reaches the brim of his anger/tension/sadness whatever you call it, he pulls over to the side of the road on a narrow street. He exits the car without slamming the door shut, as usual, no matter how upset he is he would never take it physically out on anything or anyone. He walks over to the hood of the car and sits on top of it to light an expensive cigarette. He doesn’t have an addiction, I know he doesn’t smoke that often but he’s been smoking a lot more than 1 or 2 a day lately. Then he stands up and paces back and forth along the street ahead. I would try and fall asleep right now but I feel as if I’m responsible for him right now.

             Then there was the threat.

             Emerging from behind one of the many townhomes.

             If hatred was visible the air would have been scarlet. It wasn’t Sebastian’s anger, I could sense the man in the shadows’ anger in the air.

             And what did I do? I tried forcing myself to scream out, a muscle twitched involuntarily at the corner of my right eye, my mouth formed a solemn expression. My slender fingers pressed into the skin of my forearms, nails biting in the layer of fine dust, drawing beads of blood. My whole body shook, bones rattling out of fear. Then I start digging my nails into the seat. I wanna scream, I wanna yell, I want to tell Sebastian that someone’s approaching him ready to attack. But I can’t, I can’t get the words out, I can’t even choke them out.

             Why can’t I fucking choke any words out!

             I feel more powerless by the second knowing I could’ve easily told him someone was there already. Then the man gets distracted and looks away from him as if he’s panicking.

             That's when I hear it.

             Gunshot?

             I don't know what real gunshots sound like. I've only heard them on television. Then the man runs off.

**_“SEBASTIAN!”_ **

             Tears blind me and I turn, running as quickly as my legs can carry me, the pounding noise of my tennis shoes resonating off the walls of the alley with a clanging echo that matched my heart throbbing inside my chest with the thick grief and fear I felt as I ran. I drop to my knees probably bruising them terribly in the process. I prop his head up on my lap and sobbed hysterically until I called an ambulance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trust me, things are gonna tone down for a little while in this story.
> 
> I gotta chill with the life threatening events.


	7. Sebastian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated this story in forever so here's a shitty chapter to make up for me going completely MIA

                 By midnight the darkness is absolute.

                 The white linen curtains stretched right to the floor and billowed as the breeze came in through his open window. I found the breeze freezing so I can’t imagine how Ciel’s body would’ve felt if I didn’t shut it. A couple minutes later I’m greeted with sunken eyes that hand me a cup of hot tea, I wrap my hands around freshly brewed herbs and let myself sink into the corner of my stepson’s mattress. I watch Claude take a seat at the opposite edge of the mattress facing away from me, causing Ciel’s limp body to shift.

                 “Next time this happens, I’m making coffee.”

                 Dumbfounded, I turned around halfway only to see the back of Claude’s head.

                 “As if I’m gonna allow a next time.”

                 He looks to me again and shakes his head, most likely implying a “nevermind.” With him, it could’ve meant anything though.

                 A few minutes later, I go downstairs trying to find myself some sort of distraction whilst still being as quiet as I could manage. I’m about as steady as a baby taking its first steps right now and anything that’ll pour out of my mouth will sound like I’m trying to quarrel with Claude. I can’t stand just sitting here staring around at the walls, no matter how pretty they look. The house feels emptier than a crypt at the moment, and you know what? I’ve unlocked my phone over 20 times in the last 10 minutes to check the time.  The rest of the room is quiet except for the sniffles from Claude’s nose that’s still recovering from a cold. I stand up and walk out of the living room to get a drink of water...again.

                 I’ve left Ciel’s door ajar by just a few inches in hopes that I would hear his footsteps or him standing up to go slam it shut again.

                 Growing impatient with not a thing to do I tell Claude that I think I’ll go check up on him again before he interrupts me mid sentence.

                 “Sit down, Sebastian.”

                 My eyes widened at the change of tone in his voice and I immediately obeyed. He looked more furious than I thought was possible, yet still I couldn’t have imagined why. He hasn’t had this look on his face since sixth form. Well maybe now he’s got a wrinkle and lost the baby face but it’s still pretty fucking familiar.

                 “You’re so sure he’s asleep. What if you go up there and he’s awake? What’s gonna change? You got mixed up in a shitty situation and this is the first time you can’t fuck, lie, sneak and whatever else you can do to get out of it. You’re upset, you know. Not because you’re worried about Ciel, you’re worried about your defeat and you know it just as good as anyone.”

                 “Claude, stop being such a girl. I don’t have time for your intervention today.”

                 I completely disregarded his out of line comment and continued up the steps.

                 “So then tell me what you’re gonna do.”

                 “Not-gonna ground- him or anything, he’d- just be- more gutted. And anyway, I doubt -he’ll pull another -stunt like this when-he comes to his-senses.” I say with my voice breaking every other word. Kind of sounding like a teenage boy on the brim of puberty. Was this the start of a panic attack? It couldn’t be. Someone like me could never-

                 I paused a quarter way up which was not the greatest idea. I really needed to move my limbs around until the anxiety vanished.  I admittedly worried. And I openly admit this could’ve been the worst way I’ve ever dealt with a situation. Everything was so easy only years ago. I felt that the things I could have done to stop Ciel from getting into such a horrible circumstances would’ve been so much simpler if I was only ten years younger. I’m not sure it could get much worse. I look to Claude one more time unaware of how twisted my features were until his face mimicked it equally. He grew uncomfortable and walked away from my sight. I looked back to my feet and dropped down slowly to sit on the stairs with my face caressed in my hands. Now, it didn’t seem like Claude trailed too far off I found him standing near the glass doors to the back yard looking like an idiot because it’s not like he could see much out there anyway. The light is drained away and there is barely enough of it for shadows.

                 He throws himself to the wall as if the worst shock he’s ever experienced ricochets up his spine, why is everyone acting out like useless twats these days. My perplexing fear only grew worse the cooler I tried to play off his freak out.

                 “Didn’t I tell you to stop acting like such a girl? What’d you see? A stray cat rummaging through the tulips?”

                 He composed himself enough to shoot me a deadpan look. And the expression on his face read “You’ve got a much bigger problem on your hands.”

                 My eyes widened even though I had no way to tell if what he was saying was true.

                 “Come,” He says, grabbing my hand, expecting to tug an unmovable boulder—relieved when I allow him to lead him out to the door. Every nerve in my body is tingling, I feel like a vulnerable child who’s gotten weak in the knees with every step closer to the garden. I then throw his hand down the second the door is slightly cracked open and I resort to sliding the door so far in the opposite direction it almost shatters like a broken mirror.

                 My temper is on a hair trigger. The next thing to happen was sure to set me off into a yelling fit, and it did. My own scream tore through me like a great shard of glass. I felt my eyes widen and pulse quicken, my heart thudding like a rock rattling in box. The scream came again, desperate, terrified... human. The blood drained from my face, before I was even aware of making a conscious decision my legs were pounding furiously on the uneven track with now knocked over plants on either side. I had no clue as to what I'd do when I got there, just that I had to get there, fast.

                 “I’M TIRED OF YOUR FUCKING GAMES! COME OUT ALREADY!” no response in return. I feel the cool wind flow through my knee joints violently and then my body jerks as it falls to the ground.

                 “Maybe it would be better if we just go inside, acting out for nothing the usual for me eh?” He clutches my arm pulling me up to eye level. He’s surely taken note of my crying and screaming, obviously, he’s looking at me like I’ve lost the plot when he’s the one that went berserk. But nevermind that, I’m far too zoned out of reality to crack even a smile at his self-deprecating jest or even the one that came after that. “You’ll catch flies with your mouth hanging open like that-, Ciel, that you?”

                 He saw the shock register on my face before I could hide it. A small smile didn’t play on his lips this time though. Instead his face was washed blank with confusion and his unsteady hands shaking the glass he had in his hand, filled to the top with water. Beneath his feet the wooden floor looked soft, not as much as even a firm carpet, but not right for oak planks. I moved to the edge of the room, my  jeans brushing against the wall. It was hard to make out the details of the room after my vision has been blinded by burning tears and the darkness of the room, but after a while I could make out the features of the room and his complete expression. On that same wall was Ciel’s school photograph taken just a few weeks ago. On the table was his pile of library books that were due for next week. Forgetting his pride he rushed forward tripping over himself to hand me the glass. Then as quick as ever, he went to run up the stairs. He huffs at himself then the scene was quite unbelievable, shocking really. My mind was sent reeling went he managed an apology with real words. Not only myself, Claude stood in shock as well. Then he comes to my side and advises me to take a rest and deal with it after I’ve gotten some shut eye.

                 But I don’t think I want to, I’m far too...excited? And that’s what I tell him, not the excited part though. Then him being Claude, he flips out on me again telling me “I’m still a selfish fucking child who does everything at other people’s expense.”

                 Naturally, I ask him where his fit came from and then he runs away. We’ve been through the same fight time and time again and I’d rather not deal with it again. It was the perfect way to end a shitty night and the start of a crappy morning. Later, I end up falling asleep enveloped in a duvet I found folded neatly under the couch. I doze off as the first strings of sunshine start coming in through the curtains, warming my cheeks and everything else to sleep and ship me away to a peaceful dreamland. In the dream the sky is full of blue hues and tones of purple too, and endless canvas. The birds sing and there is a bee on clover nearby. The streams run clear and there are fish in the river. Next to me is a small boy and he tells me how he sees the world. Preciously is the only way I can describe his answers to my questions. I asked him and endless amount of questions. This pureness is more often than not smothered by reality and fogged by sadness outside of the safe walls of a dream. I wanted to hear from the child whether or not we should care for the world. He says "Yes" like he's surprised I should even have to ask. I ask him if we should be nice to animals, his response is the same. I ask him if we should kill or harm animals and his eyes fill with tears. I ask him if humans should kill one another and he runs, runs like he just saw a monster. I call after him but he won't return. I will never know where he’s gone off to and I think I’ll be okay with that.

                 When I wake up, the setting is different of course. But it still feels fresh and uncontaminated, the atmosphere. The walls, the furniture, the natural lighting would make an artist cry from the blank canvas available at his fingertips. And there he stood over me, the splash of color in my life and in the room. His black hair looking almost blue against the white sunshine. I sit up quickly and rub my eyes with my palms that were for the first time not clammy after a nightmare. I try putting off saying anything to him by stretching for as long as I can before it starts looking weird.

                 “So since you’re a drug fiend now, wanna go to the pharmacy? I need to pick up some aspirin.” I try to crack a joke at his expense which conjures up a confused look and one eyebrow raised on Ciel’s face. I give in to his silence once again and shake my head then proceed to change into some different clothes to leave.

                 In all honesty, I did need to go to the pharmacy.

                 But what I really needed to do was go check up on Claude. Hopefully he didn’t pull a reckless stunt too.

* * *

                 I felt awful leaving Ciel at home alone, but I only left just so that I could make him feel better. And it seemed pretty obvious that he didn’t want to come with me. Or maybe he was scared of getting a “talking to”. But in reality I wouldn’t even know what to say to him. After parking my car and locking it, I entered the large pharmacy, almost as large as one floor of a hospital. It smells like one too, all different kinds of smells from medicines greeted my nose. One cashier who looked to be the only one not preoccupied by co workers or customers waved at me from her post and I smiled back. Music played through tiny speakers as I browsed the shelves of the right medication. I walk like my limbs don’t really belong to me and each step is a negotiation rather than an order. Everything hurts now. Every damn thing. I really shouldn’t have been so dramatic dropping to the floor like I did.

                 Finally, when I did find what I was looking for I took it to the cash.  Now leaving the pharmacy, I trudged along the pavement at a sedate pace, my mind focused on getting to the car without falling over and fucking up every other part of my body that wasn’t in pain. The door to my car slams shut just as I settle into the driver’s seat and wince once again in pain. I fumble around with the pill bottle before unscrewing the childproof cap and placing a small white capsule on my tongue. Softly splashing water droplets hit the car windows as I drive onwards to Claude’s house just next to the central London area. The skies are overhung with a blanket of grey, so much so that I can barely tell the difference between the sky and clouds. Car rides more often than not feel tedious. I’d much rather walk where I need to. Raindrops race down to the windows. The occasional wave of a puddle can be exciting, but I'd rather be outside in those puddles than stuck in this car.

                 Once I’ve arrived I immediately took notice to the new embellishments the house now has. Overall, pretty monochrome but with a few pops of color that made the house look more charming than it did before. Well maybe aside from the doorbell that had a strangled sound, like its battery was somewhat drained. Unexpectedly, his wife Hannah opens the door. In this morning light she could be twenty-five, but in the harsher brightness of the day she’s closer to twenty, more girlish and charming. Behind her tangle of lavender bangs I can tell her eyes are giving me the “I know you fucked up but I won’t say anything until you do,” kind of look. We’re friends as well, and it never went much farther than that. She was too much of a complexity for me to take too much interest in her romantically. I only mention this because every single guy in sixth form would fawn over her and drool over her figure as she walked past. She knew that better than anyone, she’s not a dumb girl. One of the smartest fucking people I know actually, no wonder she must know exactly how the argument between Claude and I played out without even being at the scene. On the contrary, she may be pregnant, but it doesn’t show since it’s only been a few weeks. She’ll probably make a great mother and I couldn’t be more happy for her and Claude. But right now, scores need to be settled.

                 “Oh, hey Sebastian.” She greeted and I did the same. Then leads me to their living room whilst I ask her casual small talk questions and she replies without much interest, I can tell she really despises these types of conversations.

                 I've never seen a room with so much furniture and so little hues I'd never choose. I've dedicated my purchases to clean lines, simple and mostly white; these walls are all plastered in blocks of whites and reds. The furniture is rustic and dark, sprinkled liberally with vibrant cushions. There is a table in easy reach of every seat and the walls are more photographs than paint. Something makes me doubt she chose this vibrancy for the house. We sat down opposite from each other after she’s open the windows. In the silence that followed, I could hear the wind sweeping around the vast space of the room, testing the window’s seams.

                 I sighed after a while of small talk until I confessed what I was really here for. “So do you know where Claude might be, some stuff went down this morning and he’s gone on a little bit of a rage.”

                 “I was waiting for you to mention that bit. Didn’t realize it would take nearly this long.” And there at the corner of her would-be sombre lips was a crease of amusement. Then she concludes that I’ll be quite amused with his whereabouts.

                 “Well, it was a pretty rough turn of events.”

                 She rearranges the flowers on the table to her left and does the same annoying thing I can’t stand. Like I’ve already said, she gave me the “I know you fucked up but I won’t say anything until you do,” look once again. Then she takes a seat once again and tells me she knows, and that she also knows Ciel accidently overdosed last night. 

                 “He told you?” I asked almost rhetorically.

                 “He went to your house to apologize actually.” I’m really not all that surprised.

                 “Yeah, of course he did. Anyways, how’s the kid doing there?” I point to her stomach trying to steer our conversation away from Ciel and all the shit that happened.

                 “The size of a pea, and I know when someone’s trying to change a subject.” She lightly taps her stomach with her right hand as she responds.

                 “Maybe I should get going, I’d rather not chase each other in circles all day.”

                 “He’ll be home any minute now, I think you’ll be in even deeper if you leave now.”

                 “So, what have you been doing with all that spare time you’ve got on your hands.”

                 “What spare time? I haven’t got anything even close.”

                 She cocks her head to the side. “With the party a couple days ago, I’d say otherwise.”

                 “That was a single night.”

                 It’s hard to understand why someone like Hannah married Claude. But I think I’ve got it. They have nothing in common, other than a will for the right result in the end. He was the one lead by emotion and her by cool logic. He wanted to run out and and heal the wounded, she knew it would take resources beyond what they had. She was what he needed, a mentor, a guide. He was what she needed, someone that could make her laugh instead of scoff.

                 Just then the light of her life busted through the door with - to my surprise - my stepson trailing behind him while his eyes trailed off to observe the paintings on the wall instead. I couldn’t understand why he took Ciel with him, it’s not like he was sure that I was here.

                 “I’ve been looking all over the place for you. You know what kind of a pain in the arse my journey trying to find you was?”

                 Any inclination I had to apologize vanished. No, not because I got mad about what he imposed on me, as if it was my fault, but because I was way too eager to speak to Ciel again. Even when I stood up from the armchair I walked with a bounce in my step towards him.

“Yeah I uh, took some responsibility and took Ciel with me.” Claude announces and I disregard it, whilst Hannah gives him a look of confusion. 

                 “Ciel and I are gonna get going now.” I lead him out through the front doors and realize that I hadn’t said one word to Claude or even did what I came here for. We walked together across the newly sealed asphalt and to my car that stood in front of the second garage door in front of their house.

                 Once we’re seated I stretch my arms to the window then slump back into my seat like I’m gonna doze off right here in front of the steering wheel. Just as I begin to turn to Ciel I’ve noticed that he looks like he’s completely recovered from previous events, not the slightest curve in his posture. His eyes begin to wander from the dashboard the the passenger window. There and back, there and back, not like a maniac or anything just subtly waiting until the car starts. I continue watching his actions hoping he notices and asks “why?” that’s all I needed to hear. “Why?” as in “what else do you want me to say?”. “Why?” as in “Why haven’t you started the car yet?” Something, anything, just fucking say something one more time.

                 “Ciel…” His name wanders off my tongue and I’m not even sure what to say after it came out. And there it was finally some acknowledgement, he turns around slowly to look at me again and sighs. Even if it was an expression full of empty anger for whatever reason it was still something.

                 I begin to lean in closer and whisper “You’re not the one who should be mad right now.”

                 But I wasn’t mad either, I was relieved that he ended up okay. And why was he upset? Did Claude say something to him on the way here? What happened? Why is he acting like this when he shouldn’t, when he really doesn’t have a reason to?

                 “Unbelievable.” He spits out at me with more anger in his voice I thought he could manage to keep inside him.

                 “What?” I question out of shock and he begins to turn to me once again.

                 “Bastard.” 

                 “I liked it a whole lot better when you didn’t talk.” 

                 I think I may have understood why he was so mad, maybe. Claude said something to him because from the point of when I first spoke to him today and now is a really big gap, so another idiot’s influence instilled the idea that I’ve done something wrong.

                 Or hormones, that’s always an option. 

* * *

                 After an extended amount of time driving, I’ve reached the peak of anger. I’m hardly what you can call the angry type but the road rage I had mustered up could easily burn Buckingham Palace to ash. I’ve been waiting for, praying for, some kind of top-down change between us, but now I know it won’t happen that way. I’m fooling myself if I think it will. And all I can think is

_                  You look like you're on guard, defensive. Can I help to put you at your ease? Your face is so serious right now I wish I could play you twenty four hours of good comedy. Not in the mood to laugh? Okay. What if I say to you here’s a thousand dollars go blow it off on whatever you want. Cigarettes, books, plane tickets to get away from this place? You won’t be happy either, you’re not materialistic. I’m desperate for you to smile out of happiness, what can I do before you end up like your mother? I love you and you know that. Do you know that? Does it even matter to you? _

                 I’ve already pulled over and stepped out of the car with a pack in my hand. I stared at the cigarette between my fingers. It soon became almost short enough to burn me. With an effort, I leaned forward to crush it out.

                 Just waiting for something to happen.

                 And it did. 


End file.
